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Updated: May 17, 2025
Upon the garden Betty's eyes dwelt, as she stood still for some minutes taking in their effect thoughtfully. Kedgers had certainly accomplished much. His close-trimmed lawns did him credit, his flower beds were flushed and azured, purpled and snowed with bloom. Sweet tall spires, hung with blue or white or rosy flower bells, lifted their heads above the colour of lower growths.
The financier's bloated cheeks purpled as he put his clumsy interrogation. "Oh, yes. This feller Standing reckons he's made a big start, and there are mighty big plans out. When he and that clownish partner of his, Harker, are through, Sachigo'll be the biggest proposition in the way of groundwood pulp in the world.
The Fables was the last book Dryden wrote. He was growing to be an old man, and a few months after it was published he became very ill. "John Dryden, Esq., the famous poet, lies a-dying," said the newspapers on the 30th April, 1700. One May morning he closed his eyes for ever, just as "Aurora had but newly chased the night, And purpled o'er the sky with blushing light."
Suddenly his hands went down into the basin with a splash. "It is now the end of October," he enlightened; "next year comes in nine weeks." The sun was dipping into a cloud-bank already purpled and gold-rimmed. Shortly it would drop behind the bristling summit-line of the hills. The girl looked down at tell-tale streaks of red clay on the skirt of her riding habit, and shook her head.
Rushton, Hetty, Grant the maid, and an old man-servant who followed his mistress everywhere, arrived at the railway-station near Wavertree, and were driven along the old familiar country road with the soft purpled woods on one side, and the green plains and distant view of the sea on the other.
Then, tardily, came the instinct for caution. "And there's nothing to tell, anyways," he finished sulkily. "Sure. What's a little rustling and a little bank robbing among friends?" Keller wanted to know cheerfully. For just an instant he thought he had gone too far. The big ruffian opposite choked over his biscuit, the while rage purpled his face.
This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wrecked is the ship of pearl!
You lied to me!" Burr compressed his lips and filled his lungs with a quick-drawn breath. His cheeks purpled and his eyes shot dark fire. "Mr. Arlington, you go too far. I cannot brook insult." "Do not brook it. Resent it. You have smutched my honor. You have ruined the Blennerhassetts. You have betrayed a host of confiding people. You have endeavored to destroy the Union.
The May days crept away in a sweet succession and the shores of Four Winds Harbor greened and bloomed and purpled. One day in late May Gilbert came home to be met by Susan in the stable yard. "I am afraid something has upset Mrs. Doctor, doctor, dear," she said mysteriously. "She got a letter this afternoon and since then she has just been walking round the garden and talking to herself.
Swiftly she sped along the highway, and, as the road wound out and in about the bluffs and gullies of the mountain, saw and lost by glimpses the tall tower that stood before and above her, purpled by the mountain air.
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