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Updated: May 16, 2025
Over by the old vine-covered stump there was a gleam of white, swaying a little, breathing a little, it seemed, and Steering went toward it, strength coming back into his limbs, his head lifting as he came, his arms outheld. "I hoped that you would come, Mr. Steering.
But again the mischief in him, the idler, the newly awakened hunting male, took him to her with arms outheld and the look of triumph in his eyes that she mistook for love. On one such occasion Joey came near to surprising a situation, so near that his sophisticated young mind guessed rather more than the truth. He went out, whistling.
"Here, catch the steak, Rutherford," John was saying cheerfully. And Clarence, with carving-knife and fork outheld, was making as neat a catch as possible. "Here, Tiddy, don't try to stagger in along under those biscuits. You made 'em. That kind takes two strong men I know, I've eaten your biscuits before." "I made these the regular way, with yeast," said Tiddy in an injured voice.
Woolfolk took her immediately into the cabin; where, lighting a swinging lamp, he placed her on one of the prepared berths and endeavored to wrap her in a blanket. But, in a shuddering access of fear, she rose with outheld palms. "Nicholas!" she cried shrilly. "There at the door!" He sat beside her, restraining her convulsive effort to cower in a far, dark angle of the cabin.
Becker, hatted, crossed the sun-bleached street, carrying outheld something that wetted through the snowy napkin that covered it. At the door she surrendered it to Lena. "Put this in the ice box for Mr. Albert's supper. It's some of my coldslaw he's so fond of, and a pound of sweet butter, I took from my dairyman.
The sun shone, the country looked lovely in its autumn bravery of tint and tone; she felt well, and the contemplation of such people as Dan and Bertha was not elevating; they must out of her mind like any other unholy thought, that she might be worthy to associate with the loyal ladies and noble gentlemen whose hands were outheld to help her.
Get it out in bits. M'appari, Simon, Father Cowley said. Down stage he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his long arms outheld. Hoarsely the apple of his throat hoarsed softly. Softly he sang to a dusty seascape there: A Last Farewell. A headland, a ship, a sail upon the billows. Farewell. A lovely girl, her veil awave upon the wind upon the headland, wind around her.
"You don't look like you need salad and green ice-cream. You look like you needed what I wanted a cup of coffee." "Aw, Mr. Haas now where in the world Aw, Mr. Haas!" With a steaming cup outheld and carefully out of collision with the crowd, Mr. Haas unflapped a napkin with his free hand, inserting his foot in the rung of a chair and dragging it toward her.
"You see, Jeff, things often read worse than they are. Maybe I can help. I've a clearer head than you'd guess." The man's cheeks flushed. He had distressed her, frightened her, and the thought of it annoyed him. He stepped toward her, his hands outheld. She responded, and her hands were caught in his firm warm clasp. "Say, I'm just sorry. I surely am. Guess I've no sort of right scaring you.
Her soft cheeks were tinted with a blush of embarrassment, and her smiling eyes were shyly regarding him. He strode up to her, his arms outheld. The girl yielded to his embrace on the instant, and then hastily released herself, and glanced about her in real apprehension. Kars smilingly shook his head. "There's no one around," he comforted her. "Are you quite sure?" "Quite."
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