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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Curly hair's messy looking," he observed after a considerable pause during which, evidently, his thoughts had remained centred on this pleasing theme. And then, all of a sudden, Missy found herself saying an inexplicable, unheard-of thing: "You can have a lock-if you want to." She glanced up, and then quickly down. And she felt herself blushing again; she didn't exactly like to blush yet yet
Mary shouted, quickly entering the drawing-room, "here's Quinny, and please can we have tea at once because the trawlers are just coming home and we want to see them being beached and ... oh, I say, my hands are messy, aren't they. Still, it doesn't matter! I can wash them afterwards." "My dear!" said Mrs. Graham reproachfully, and then she turned to greet Henry who had become awkward again.
A moment after the fairy's entrance the window was blown open by the breathing of the little stars, and Peter dropped in. He had carried Tinker Bell part of the way, and his hand was still messy with the fairy dust.
"Hello!" said Higbee; "if I'd known that was you we was chasing I'd have put on steam and left you out of sight." "It's much better you didn't recognise us; these boiler explosions are so messy." "Know the baron here?" "Of course we know the baron. Ah, baron!" "Ah, ha! very charmed, Mr. Bines and Miss Bines; it is of a long time that we are not encountered."
"About one o'clock, you say?" Kite muttered, frowning, twisted his head around and called down a back passage, "Louie Oh, Louie!" and when an overalled porter, rather messy, shuffled to the desk, put the low toned query, "D'you see any stranger guy gripping a sole leather shirt-box snoop by out yestiddy, after one, thereabouts?" And I added the information,
She is afraid she will be killed, and thinks it will be a messy sort of death to die. Besides, she likes London. She says her brother will be "overwhelmed with invitations"; but he hates society, and loathes being lionized. Imagine the man smothered under stacks of perfumed notes, as Tarpeia was under the shields and bracelets!
"That's what our supervisor is always sayin'," said the road-worker. "Yes," I responded, "it usually is the supervisor. He lives by it. He wants to smooth over the defects, he wants to lay the dust that every passerby kicks up, he tries to smear over the truth regarding conditions with messy and ill-smelling oil.
Oh the family! it was a queer one to be connected with: that consciousness was acute in Sherringham's breast to-day as he entered Mrs. Rooth's little circle. The place was filled with cigarette-smoke and there was a messy coffee-service on the piano, whose keys Basil Dashwood lightly touched for his own diversion.
"Well, we're rather afraid we are!" Mrs. Burgoyne's voice, if fearful, was hopeful too, for Ellen's face was a study. "Why, is it such a terrible effort?" "Oh, yes, it's an appalling amount of struggle and fuss, there's all sorts of red tape, and the flowers are so messy," answered the doctor's wife warningly, "and this year will be worse than ever.
One's so helpless against them, sticking here waiting to know where the next will drop. And they don't even give a fellow the ordinary four to one chance of a casualty being a wound only. They make such a cruel messy smash of a fellow. . . . Are you going? 'Must find that break in my wire, said the gunner, and presently he and the telephonist ploughed off along the trench.
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