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I think you cannot for you were not then three years of age. 'Certainly I can, sir, replied Miranda. 'By what? asked Prospero; 'by any other house or person? Tell me what you can remember, my child. Miranda said: 'It seems to me like the recollection of a dream. But had I not once four or Eve women who attended upon me? Prospero answered: 'You had, and more.
From the diary on her desk Anna lifted her cheek, looked up, reclosed her lids, smiled and reopened them. Miranda took the blushing face between her palms, and with quizzing eyes and nose inquired: "Is there any reason under heaven why Anna Callender shouldn't go to bed and have glad dreams?" "None that I know of," said Anna.
When we get up in the woods you can smooth your hair down and tie the rigolette over your head and settle what's left of my bonnet; it'll be an expensive errant, this will!" It was not till next morning that Rebecca's heart really began its song of thanksgiving. Her Aunt Miranda announced at breakfast, that as Mrs.
"Guess again!" "Nuts? Oh! I can't, Bijah; I'm just going to Milliken's Mills on an errand, and I'm afraid of missing Mrs. Perkins. Show me quick! Is it really for me, or for Aunt Miranda?" "Reely for you, I guess!" and he opened the large brown paper bag and drew from it the remains of a water-soaked hat! They WERE remains, but there was no doubt of their nature and substance.
Marjorie walked away with a self-rebuked air; she did dread to pass that open sitting-room door; Uncle James had come in in his shirt sleeves, wiping his bald head with his handkerchief and was telling her grandfather that the hay was poor this year; Aunt Miranda was brushing Nettie's hair and scolding her for having such greasy fingers; and her grandmother had a pile, such a pile of sliced apple all ready to be strung.
"You'll never tell on me?... Not even to Miranda?... Nor h-his his uncle?... Nor" the petitioner pressed closer with brightening eyes "nor his cousin?" Softly Flora's face went into her hands, and face and hands to Anna's shoulder, as neat a reduplication as ever was. But suddenly there were hoof-beats again. Yes, coming at an easy gallop. Now they trotted through the front gate.
But a kind lord of my court, one Gonzalo, who loved me, had privately placed in the boat, water, provisions, apparel, and some books which I prize above my dukedom." "O my father," said Miranda, "what a trouble must I have been to you then!" "No, my love," said Prospero, "you were a little cherub that did preserve me. Your innocent smiles made me to bear up against my misfortunes.
You ought to have a clearer comprehension in the brisk, bright atmosphere of this upland plain. It should make your brain more active." "Well, Coronel mio, you're the first man I ever saw on the way to make a prisoner who desired to meet resistance. Carrambia! I can't understand that." "I don't desire to make any prisoner at least, not Don Valerian Miranda.
A famous place it was so long as its sign swung at the side of the road: famous for its landlord, portly, paternal, whose welcome to a guest that looked worthy of the attention was like that of a parent to a returning prodigal, and whose parting words were almost as good as a marriage benediction; famous for its landlady, ample in person, motherly, seeing to the whole household with her own eyes, mistress of all culinary secrets that Northern kitchens are most proud of; famous also for its ancient servant, as city people would call her, help, as she was called in the tavern and would have called herself, the unchanging, seemingly immortal Miranda, who cared for the guests as if she were their nursing mother, and pressed the specially favorite delicacies on their attention as a connoisseur calls the wandering eyes of an amateur to the beauties of a picture.
Start the driving wheels, repeat slowly the name of your favorite coroner, and leave the rest to Fate!" And away they started in the Whiz Wagon. Before they had rolled along for half a mile through town the machine suddenly began to breathe fast, and then, all of a sudden, it choked up and stopped. "Will it explode?" whispered Aunt Miranda, pleadingly.
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