Poor as the rig was, it offered a chance of greater speed than Captain Benson could make at a walk, so he quickly engaged the rig and was driven to the place where the Secret Service men were stopping. "You've brought us the only thing like a real clue that we have," declared Mr. Trotter, very frankly, after he had heard Jack's story.
This predisposition to think well of the work of others gave him the happy opportunity in more than one instance of bringing authors of real talent before the public who might otherwise have waited long for general recognition. This was especially the case with one of our best beloved New England writers, Lucy Larcom.
One cannot look down the far stretch of the chief street and persuade himself that these are real houses, and that it is all out of doors the impression that it is an unreality, a picture, a scene in a theater, is the only one that will take hold. Then there came a great day when this illusion was more pronounced than ever.
Real and actual, it certainly was, and every newspaper betrayed it, but sequence could scarcely be denied by one who had watched its steady approach, thinking the change far more interesting to history than the thought.
"I should think not," Malcolm said heartily; "it is long since I tasted a glass of real Scotch spirit, and I never need an excuse for taking a glass of whatever it be that comes in my way. Not, Mistress Janet, that I am a toper.
I asked a few questions, although I paid but little attention to what he said, my mind being busied with searching out his real purpose. No doubt the situation was very nearly as he described it to be LeVere was no navigator, and Estada himself only an indifferent one.
"Yes," he said, "this is the end, the real end, for there, it will all be different it will be terrible." "Let us sit here for a little while together," Domini said, "and be quiet. Is it like the garden of El-Largani, Boris?" "No.
This was Sir Thomas Overbury. On the death of Cecil the real contenders for the vacant office of First Secretary of State the highest office in the land were not the wily Northampton and the relatively unintelligent Rochester, but the subtle Northampton and the quite as subtle, and perhaps more spacious-minded, Thomas Overbury.
Swipe a chunk of property? That's a part of North Bridgeboro you've got there." "Why didn't you take the whole village?" another called. "Hey, Roly, where are you going with the real estate?" another called. "I knew you were too heavy for that neck of land," shouted another. "Why didn't you take the whole orchard with you?" a third wanted to know. "For the love of ," another ejaculated.
He bent over and kissed the red scar. "Jenny," he replied in bitter self-reproach, "here's another time I've proved I'm not in your class not a gentleman. You've raised a point the real point. Am I what you think me? You think I'm at least a man. Am I?" She looked up at him, her face suddenly gone white again. "Tom! You don't mean ?" "About my being strong.