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It was true that Richard adored her, but then no doubt this kind of woman knew well how to deceive men. Softly she made to herself the Scottish manifestation of incredulity, "Mhm...." And Marion, for thirty years vigilant for sounds of scorn, heard and perfectly understood. She remained, however, massively and unattractively immobile.
To them panpipes might play in vain, but almost any series of statistics or the more desiccated kind of social fact recited with a terrier-like air of sagacity would entrance them. "The mines are Baird's, you know Sir Milne Baird; it's a Glasgow firm...." "Mhm," said Mr. Philip, "I know who you mean."
"Mhm," said Mr. Philip sagaciously, and from the funeral slide of respect in his voice Ellen guessed that he imagined rastaqouère to be a Brazilian variety of Lord Provost.
It was a dress of white ribbed Lille silk, with thick lace that ran in an upstanding frill round the tiny bodice and fell in flounces, held here and there with very pink roses, over a pert little scalloped bustle; she visualised it as she had often held it up for her mother to look at, who would go on knitting and say, with an affectation of a coldly critical air, "Mhm.
Then his free palm was cupped under her chin, tilting it carefully. His other eyes appeared above hers. Very close. Very dark. "I'll bite!" Trigger whispered fiercely. "I'll bi mmph! "Mmmph grrmm! "Grr-mm-mhm.... Hm-m-m ... mhm!" They walked on along the trail, hand in hand. They came up over the last little rise. Trigger looked down on the camp. She frowned. "Pretty dull!" she observed. "Eh?"
There was a very handsome red wallpaper, and a blazing fire that chased the tawny lights and shadows on the leviathanic mahogany furniture and set a sparkle on the thick silver and fine glass on the spread table. "Mhm!" he sighed contentedly, and raised the tumbler to his lips. But the smell of the whisky recalled to him the flavour of that Piccadilly woman's kisses.
'Dinna ye ken a proverb whan ye hear 't? De'il hae ye! ye're as sharpset as a missionar'. I was only gaun to say that I'm doobtin' Andrew's deid. 'Ay! ay! commenced a chorus of questioning. 'Mhm! 'Aaay! 'What gars ye think that? 'And sae he's deid! 'He was a great favourite, Anerew! 'Whaur dee'd he? 'Aye some upsettin' though! 'Ay. He was aye to be somebody wi' his tale.
"Mhm," said Ellen, since it was not her own country; "it's verra flat." And then, realising that she was belittling beauty, she exclaimed, "I must have said that for the sake of being disagreeable. I think it's fine, though very different from Scotland. But after all, why should everything be like Scotland? There's no real reason. I don't see where Richard's going to work, though."
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