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It was my father's, Margaret Fuller's motto. I had been nursed on it, I might say. There had been a time when I had dreamed of attaining Margaret's stature; and as I thought of that, some old subtile flame stirred in me with a keen delight. New to me, almost; for, since my baby was born, my soul as well as my body had been weak and nauseated. It had been so sharp a disappointment!
The foulness of their breath almost nauseated me, but I stood the test, keeping my eyes tightly closed and allowing my head to flop forward the moment it was released from their clutch. "What in the hell did you hit him so hard for?" cried the leader, turning savagely to the man at his left elbow. "We ain't lookin' for any rope-collars over this. Guess we'd better beat it.
That night, with the snow still falling, though very lightly, I made my couch of boughs by a fairly comfortable fire, and rested well. The cup of thin gruel that I made from the green lumps of mould nauseated me, and I had to brew some tea to settle my stomach and stimulate me.
A trick, a wise device of priests, no more to make the nauseated, tired-out pair drag on the careful business of life, drudge for the dull-got family with greater satisfaction, because they are taught to think marriage was made in heaven; a mighty comfort that, when all the joys of life are lost by it: were it not nobler far that honour kept him just, and that good nature made him reasonable provision?
It pounded his ear drums with physical blows; it tore at the bridge of his nose, jarred his teeth, sent shooting pains through his head, for he was not wise enough to stuff his ears with cotton and hold his mouth open. It shook the pit of his stomach and nauseated him. It was a sound cyclone. Added to this the sickening acrid smell of niter explosives filled the atmosphere.
Other marks of Sidney's style belong similarly to poetry rather than to prose. In its day the Arcadia was hailed as a reformation by men nauseated by the rhythmical patterns of Lyly.
Of one passage I must take notice; it is a little indirect sneer at our crowd of authoresses. My choosing to send this to you, is a proof that I think you an author, that is, a classic. But, in truth, I am nauseated by the Madams Piozzi, &c., and the host of novel-writers in petticoats, who think they imitate what is inimitable, "Evelina" and "Cecilia."
"Oh, that's only the sort of nauseated feeling you get with flu." "I'm only fit to be thrown underground, and made an end of. I can't stand myself " He had a ghastly, grey look of self-repulsion. "It's the germ that makes you feel like that," said Lilly. "It poisons the system for a time. But you'll work it off." At evening he was no better, the fever was still high.
In extremes it would draw him, but the beauty of her mind and appearance there lay the fascination. He was heartsick at being compelled to be absent from her, and yet he did not know that he would ever be able to attain her at all. As he thought of his condition, it rather terrified and nauseated him.
He smothered her with his foul kisses, ravished her lips, her eyes, the soft hot cheeks, the oval of the chin, and the lovely curve of the throat. She was physically nauseated when he flung her from him against the wall and strode from the room with another horrible whoop of exultation. She clung to the wall, panting, eyes closed. A shocking sense of degradation flooded her soul.
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