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You are tired. I see it. And I, too, am tired." She followed Karen to the door, murmuring: "Sans rancune, n'est-ce-pas?" "Yes, Tante." As the door closed upon Karen, Madame von Marwitz turned to Mr. Drew. "If you wish to see her, why not seek her openly? Who makes it difficult for you to approach her?" Her voice had the sharpness of splintering ice. "Why, no one, ma chére," said Mr. Drew.
I think that man was trying to get your property, my dear Maud, and if I had found something I would tell you all about. But it was very great sottise, and you were very right to denounce me to Monsieur. Je n'ai point de rancune contre vous. No, no, none at all. On the contrary, I shall be your gardienne tutelaire wat you call? guardian angel ah, yes, that is it.
I wronged you, though of course it was my fate, and I do not regret it. You must tell me you forgive me, or else I shall imagine you feel... de la rancune." As he looked into her beautiful eyes, shining with tears, Litvinov's senses seemed to swim. "I will remember nothing," he managed to say; "nothing but the happy moments for which I was once indebted to you."
And herein the weirdness of his natural vocabulary and the patchiness of his reading were of very real value to him. Take the opening words of his letter to Tom Taylor: 'Dead for a ducat, dead! my dear Tom: and the rattle has reached me by post. Sans rancune, say you?
And as he looked, her bluff black bows rose upward with an odd climbing movement like a horse stepping up a bank. With a rattle of ropes and blocks she stood still. Barebone went about again and sailed past her. "Sans rancune!" he shouted. But no one heeded him, for they had other matters to attend to. And the dinghy sailed into the veil of the mist toward the land.
He understood it a minute later, however, when the brown sail ran up the mast and, holding the tiller between his knees, Barebone hauled in the sheet hand over hand and steered a course out to sea. He looked back over the foot of the sail and waved his hand. "Sans rancune!" he shouted. "C'est entendu!" The Captain's own words.
He understood it a minute later, however, when the brown sail ran up the mast and, holding the tiller between his knees, Barebone hauled in the sheet hand over hand and steered a course out to sea. He looked back over the foot of the sail and waved his hand. "Sans rancune!" he shouted. "C'est entendu!" The Captain's own words.
The safe-keeping of the prisoner had been made of personal advantage to each member of the crew. The Captain hailed Barebone with winged words which need not be set down here, and explained to him the impossibility of escape. "How can you a landsman," he shouted, "hope to get away from us? Come back and it shall be as you say, 'sans rancune. Name of God!
"Nay, we have lost the game, and I am speaking sans rancune. It is not for you, who have won, to bear malice," says my lord, with a bow. Madame de Bernstein protested she was never in her life in better humour. "Confess, now, Eugene, that visit of Maria to Harry at the spunging-house that touching giving up of all his presents to her, was a stroke of thy invention?"
Our Court? A satire on us all on me on Seckendorf, Grumbkow, Eversmann. On me, too? The Crown Prince has underscored most of it, that it may be better understood. Here is a Marshal with the nickname le chicaneur. You know that's meant for you, Grumbkow. Outrageous! The Ambassador, Vicomte de la Rancune, otherwise le petit combinateur. That's you, Seckendorf. It's it's an international insult.
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