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Updated: May 20, 2025
The difference lay neither in feature, in coloring, nor in height, but in that baffling, illusive inner illumination that some call individuality, and others soul. Something of this idea, misted and tangled by nervous imagination, crossed Chilcote's mind in that moment of scrutiny, but he shrank from it apprehensively.
He merely looked at her with misted eyes, as if he found it touching that anyone should feel like that, and this reassured her. Perhaps he knew an answer to this problem. It might be possible that he knew it and yet could not tell it, for she had never been able to tell him how she loved him, though she knew quite well.
The blue eyes misted, and the pointed, pink chin quivered. And the others knew what she meant. Indeed, at the sight of her brimming eyes One-Eye felt so keenly that, without warning, he put his head back in a most surprising fashion, opened his mouth, shut that one eye, and broke into a strange plaint.
"I guess he can find one if he tries hard." She was alluring as she kneaded the bread at the table. The flex of her waist and the swing of her skirts affected Rivers powerfully. He watched her in silence. Once she looked around, and the penetrative glance of his eyes filled her face with a rush of blood, and her eyes misted.
Rachael turned from the mirror, her blue eyes misted with tears under the brim of her wedding hat. "YOU!" Elinor smiled. "That I should live to see it! You in love!" "And unashamed, and proud of it!" Rachael said with a tremulous laugh. "Are you all ready? Shall we go down?" She turned at the door and put one arm about her friend. "Kiss me, Elinor, and wish me joy," said she.
That outburst you used to like, amid the green bloom of the prairies, like the misted birches at home, under the heaven-wide warmth of April breathing with universal mildness through the softened air why, you can remember the very day," I said.
He lay with his eyes closed, fitting together odd bits of dreams? No, he was certain that they were memories. Rossa of the Beaker traders and Ross Murdock of the project were again fused into one and the same person. How it had happened he did not know, but it was true. Opening his eyes, he noticed a curved ceiling of soft blue which misted at the edges into gray.
Rosemary came pattering obediently toward her, a small, docile figure, dark eyes misted with dreams, wide with amazement. "I must be nine-tenths asleep," she murmured gently. "Because I don't hear a single thing, Janet. Perhaps " "Hush listen!" begged Janet, raising an imperative hand and then her own eyes widened. "Why it's gone!" There was a note of flat incredulity in her voice.
The spirit within him shone out in the moment of solitude; he passed his hands down the front, of his coat, revelling in its coarse texture; he rose to his feet, turned to the sheet of gray, misted glass, and, letting down the window, leaned out into the night.
It was evident to him that she saw herself in the role of a mother; her face had a tender maternal glamour, her eyes were misted with sentiment; a superb actress. "A baby of my own," she whispered; "a baby and a house and Peyton." "Nothing duller could be imagined." Momentarily he lost his self- restraint. "You have something inimitable, supremely valuable, and you are dreaming like a rabbit.
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