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Updated: May 22, 2025
I could not help laughing again at his mock-tragic and absurd way of taking things, and as I honestly felt that if matters were unpleasant it was all his own fault, he leaned toward me now with his eyes half shut and his teeth pressed together as he whispered close to my ear "All right. You'll be sorry for it some day, and then " "Here's another, Dale! Quick!" cried Mr Denning.
My mind had been so flurried that I was glad to get out into the fresh air. When shall I see you again?" He couldn't bring himself to say never. There would have been a mock-tragic element about the single word which even he felt. And yet, here on the steps of the monument, there was hardly an opportunity for him to explain at length the propriety of their both agreeing to be severed.
I've confided to you that that man is dangerous to Genevieve's happiness. I'll not permit it. What a fortunate chance that the earl came with him! I shall see to it that Genevieve becomes a countess." Dolores pulled a mock-tragic face. "Oh, mamma," she implored, "why don't you root for me, instead? I'm sure a coronet would fit me to perfection, and his mustache is so cute!" To judge by Mrs.
"I don't see why you always " "Hush, they'll hear you," cautioned Grace. "Let's pretend we don't see them. Hurry up! I've got a quarter, and I'll treat you to sodas. Come on in Pierson's drug store." "Too late!" moaned Billy, in mock-tragic tones. "They are waving to us we can't be too rude."
Bat struck a mock-tragic attitude and hissed: "Diavolo!" By a strange accident he had picked out two which were not mates. One of his eyes was a soft, pale, limpid amber and the other a fierce and insurrectionary red.
A debate ensues on the causes of the decline in painting and the arts; it is attributed to the love of money. A picture representing the sack of Troy gives occasion for a mock-tragic poem of some length, doubtless aimed at Nero's effusions. The poet is pelted as a bore, and has to decamp in haste. But he is incorrigible. He returns, and this time brings a still longer and more pretentious poem.
"Kate, I'm thoroughly reformed, as you will know when I tell you I am perfectly willing to perform the culinary duties to-night, and I will be the cook while you discourse some music for my edification," laughed Grace, as she emerged from the studio with her sleeves rolled back, and the lost apron pinned around her. "What!" cried Kate, holding up both hands with a mock-tragic air.
You'll believe that, Jenny?" "Of course. Yet there was no reason why you should have remained away even had you not succeeded. I did not mean you to to take it that way, Tom." "All right, then. I'll drop around often if it's not against rules." "You'll come to church with me this morning?" "Church!" echoed Blake, in mock-tragic fright. "Haven't been inside a church since I don't know when."
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