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Paul Verlaine regarded as his literary diploma a letter from this ‘Balzac de la critique.’ ” It was there that we sent him a basket of fruit one morning addressed to Mr. Delorme, né Sainte-Beuve. It was there that most of his enormous labor was accomplished. “A curious corner of old Paris that Cour du Commerce! Just opposite his window was the apartment where Danton lived.
"Neither of us said a word of the affair itself, for John didn't seem to know that he had been frightened, and I was afraid to alarm him by speaking of it. He asked no questions of any sort, although in general he is a miniature Paul Pry, expressed no surprise that I was bareheaded and bloody, or that we had come so far from the fishing place and left our tackle behind.
And ever she was illusive, and he never quite got to the end of her mystery. Always there was a veil, when he least expected it, and so these hours for the most part were passed at the boiling-point of excitement and bliss. The experiences of another man's whole lifetime Paul was going through in the space of days.
"Gentlemen," continued the sagacious Augustus, "that shout is sufficient; without another word, I propose, as your captain, Mr. Paul Lovett." "And I seconds the motion!" said old Mr. Bags.
But wherever there is a soul on earth led by the Spirit of God, and filled by the Spirit of God with good and beautiful and true graces and inspirations, there is a soul which, as St Paul says, is sitting in heavenly places with Christ Jesus a soul which is already in heaven though still on earth. We confess it by our own words.
"Good morning, every one!" came the clear voice of Paul as he entered the room and crossed over to the side of his fiancée. He was particular to ignore Locke in his greeting, and as he approached Eva he bent over her hand and kissed it. A close observer would have noticed that the girl rather drew her hand back from his caress. "I am so sorry about your father, Eva," whispered Paul.
"Paul!" she repeated wildly. "There is no more Paul," she added, suddenly lowering her voice, and speaking confidentially. "Hermione can marry my dear Alexander now. There is no more Paul. You do not know? It was so quickly done. He stayed behind in the room, and I locked the door, so tight, so fast. He can never get out. Ah!" she screamed all at once, "I am so glad! Let me go let me go"
Adams left the room glad to be in the fresh air under the clear, starlit sky. No more lonely or picturesque ruin ever existed than the church of St. Paul; though human habitations crowd close upon it, they are however the houses of Chinese and make the Christian edifice seem the more solitary.
"My dear Paul," she said, "I cannot thank you enough for having given us the opportunity of meeting these most delightful Americans, and I really must tell you this I had meant to keep it a secret, but from you I cannot; I knew all the time that the name of Bundercombe was familiar to me, and suddenly it came over me like a flash! Directly I asked Mr.
"Well, he didn't eat it, and therefore, if he was a Thug, he would have done so, had he intended to strangle your father." "I don't know," said Sylvia, with a look of obstinacy on her pretty face. "But remember the cruel way in which my father was killed, Paul. It's just what an Indian would do, and then the sugar oh, I'm quite sure this hawker committed the crime."
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