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Updated: May 7, 2025
"I tell you Bludyard Stripling ought to be our poet laureate. He's the laureate of the Empire, at any rate. Why, a song like that binds a nation together. You haven't any poet like that, have you?" "No-o," answered Sam, thinking in shame of Shortfellow, Slowell, and Pittier. "I'm afraid all our poets are old women and don't understand us soldiers."
Could you imagine yourself marrying without first being in love?" "No-o," I said thoughtfully. "Not when it really came to it. But Vic says that's all nonsense; that no woman, no matter how much she thinks herself in love, ever stops in love with her husband. The thing is to marry a man who will let you do as you like; and of course he must be rich." Sally sighed.
"Do you really want to buy gloves?" "No-o...." "Then what under the sun do you want?" He noticed suddenly that, however impatient her tone, her eyes were still kindly. Eyes of luminous hazel brown they were, wide open and clear beneath dark and delicate brows; eyes that assorted oddly with her hair of pale, dull gold, rendering her prettiness both individual and distinctive.
What are you trying to get at, Jed?" "Get at?" "Yes. Why did you ask that question about Ruth and Barbara? You don't mean that you see a way out for me, do you?" "W-e-e-ll, I . . . er . . . I don't cal'late I'd want to go so far as to say that, hardly. No-o, I don't know's it's a way out quite.
Malcolm smiled, in his languid fashion. If he suspected sarcasm in the first part of the captain's reply, it did not trouble him. His self-sufficiency was proof against anything of that sort. "Business," he repeated. "Well, that's what I'm here for. Thinking of cornering the er potato market, were you?" "No-o.
They they aren't married, are they?" "Oh, no-o, no-o-o, no-o-o-o-o." The Persimmon waggled his bullet head slowly from side to side. "I heared Tump got into a lil trouble wid de jailer las' night." "Serious?" "I dunno." The Persimmon closed one of his protruding yellow eyes.
Instead the girl looked a little troubled. "Shall I give you my accounts and my ledger?" she asked rather uncertainly. "No-o, I don't see any necessity for that," the older woman said, after a second's pause. "But Lewis & Sons is a very expensive place," Justine pursued; "they never have sales, never special prices. Their cheapest tomatoes are fifteen cents a can, and their peaches twenty-five "
Presently it dawned upon him that this was more serious; he had never seen her quite so colorless or so completely without spirit. "Sick, pal?" he asked gently, sitting down beside her. "No-o I suppose not." Val bit her lips, as soon as she had spoken, to check their quivering. "Well, what is it? I wish you'd tell me.
"I did; more shame to me, I suppose; but then you explained your reasons. I don't pretend that I should care to go by myself, but if you take me as your companion, it might be good for me, too. ... Would it disturb you to have me there?" "No-o," said Cornelia, slowly. "I'd as lief you were there as not! I feel differently since I heard that story. ... You must need heartening up sometimes.
After their wounds were dressed and bandaged, and Kenneth, a little mummy-like bundle of old white linen, lay asleep, worn out with pain and excitement, Auntie Jean found Cricket sobbing quietly under the sheet. "What is the matter, dear?" asked auntie, tenderly. "Are you in such pain?" for she knew that Cricket was a little Spartan in respect to suffering. "Yes, no-o," sobbed Cricket.
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