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Updated: June 25, 2025
Pst! she had disappeared into a passage-way, the grated door of which and its bell still rattled and sounded. The young man walked back to the alley and saw the woman reach the farther end, where she began to mount not without receiving the obsequious bow of an old portress a winding staircase, the lower steps of which were strongly lighted; she went up buoyantly, eagerly, as though impatient.
My attention was first attracted by hearing a window open from a little three-story-high loggia, opposite, hanging over their garden. A woman came forth, and, from amid the flower-pots which half-concealed her, she dropped a long cord to the ground. "Pst, Pst," she cried to the gardener at work below.
She leaned forward to read the name on the flask. "L o u a r i n e," she said. "Pst!" exclaimed the priest, with a start. "Will you have some? I don't know whether it's good. I've never tasted it, or seen it before. Will you have some?"
And she walked quickly towards him, from habit, already saying: "Pst! Pst! Come home with me, you handsome, dark fellow!" What luck! The man did not go away, but came towards Fanny, although somewhat timidly, while she went to meet him, repeating her wheedling words, so as to reassure him.
Ask him to climb up and talk the matter over with me, as to what we shall do." "Pst!" came from the cabin-window, and directly after Mr Gregory climbed in. "I could not wait," he said, "and I found the rope would bear me. Now, Strong, how do matters stand?" The captain explained the position. "And the men down below deck?"
"You will have to explain everything to him, everything. Wait there an instant." He darted back into the room. Once more I stood and waited in that silent place, so restful and so still that one felt oneself in a world far removed from the angry strife of nations. And I wondered if my interview the meeting I had so much dreaded was at an end. "Pst, Pst!" The elderly man stood at the open door.
I shall expect you at the Archangel day after to-morrow, between twelve and four. The letter read, Fanferlot at once proceeded to copy it. "Well!" said Mme. Alexandre, "what do you think?" Fanferlot was delicately resealing the letter when the door of the hotel office was abruptly opened, and the boy twice whispered, "Pst! Pst!" Fanferlot rapidly disappeared into a dark closet.
"Quiet, my boy," muttered Saint Simon, "and keep your nasty cold wet muzzle out of my hand. We shall get there some time," he added murmuringly, "and you are all right. I am not going away." "Pst! Pst! Saint Simon! Rouse up, man! Don't go to sleep." "Is it nearly morning, skipper?" grumbled the sleeper. "No, and it isn't night," whispered Denis, with his lips close to the other's ear.
Till then she had not noticed its altered arrangement, and even her guardian's coveted: "Well done, little housekeeper!" could not banish the sudden fear that assailed her. "Why, what does it mean? Where is Adrian? Where Pierre? Why are only dishes for three?" "Pst! my child! Hast been askin' questions in the sleep? Sure, you have ever since your eyes flew open.
They posted themselves in the hayloft, where there was a hole in the wall; and when Don Quixote passed on Rocinante, he heard some one calling: "Pst! Come here, señor!" As Don Quixote turned to see who it might be, he discovered the hole in the wall and it seemed very much like a marvelously decorated window, in keeping with the beautiful castle he had made out of the inn.
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