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I suppose she wets her pillow with tears, and should not mind about her sobbing: unless it kept her sister awake; unless she was unwell the next day, and the doctor had to be fetched; unless the whole family is to be put to discomfort; mother to choke over her dinner in flurry and indignation; father to eat his roast-beef in silence and with bitter sauce; everybody to look at the door each time it opens, with a vague hope that Harry is coming in.
Whether Maria had been dispensing secret charities, or kept company with an occult policeman partial to roast-beef, I do not know; but she looked very much alarmed, and said, Indeed, and indeed, mum, she had not touched a morsel of it! not she. "Confound the beef!" says Clive, carving on. "She has been cutting it!" cries the Campaigner, bringing her fist down with a thump upon the table. "Mr.
"I hear you've been very good to my wife," he said. "She's had an awful time of it. You came in and fed her with champagne. Were you among the saved yourself?" "I? Oh, I haven't been sick for twenty years sea-sick, I mean." "There are three stages of convalescence, I always say," broke in the hearty voice of Willoughby. "The milk stage, the bread-and-butter stage, and the roast-beef stage.
To lie on deck when the sun shines, and swing up and down, while the waves run hither and thither and toss their white caps, is all well enough to lie in your narrow berth and roll from side to side all night long; to walk uphill to your state-room door, and, when you get there, find you have got to the bottom of the hill, and opening the door is like lifting up a trap-door in the floor; to deliberately start for some object, and, before you know it, to be flung against it like a bag of sand; to attempt to sit down on your sofa, and find you are sitting up; to slip and slide and grasp at everything within reach, and to meet everybody leaning and walking on a slant, as if a heavy wind were blowing, and the laws of gravitation were reversed; to lie in your berth, and hear all the dishes on the cabin-table go sousing off against the wall in a general smash; to sit at table holding your soup-plate with one hand, and watching for a chance to put your spoon in when it comes high tide on your side of the dish; to vigilantly watch, the lurch of the heavy dishes while holding your glass and your plate and your knife and fork, and not to notice it when Brown, who sits next you, gets the whole swash of the gravy from the roast-beef dish on his light-colored pantaloons, and see the look of dismay that only Brown can assume on such an occasion; to see Mrs.
Crowley, 'that the pleasure you took in roast-beef and ale showed a singularly gross and unemotional nature. 'I adore good food as I adore all the other pleasant things of life, and because I have that gift I am able to look upon the future with equanimity. 'Why? asked Alec. 'Because a love for good food is the only thing that remains with man when he grows old. Love?
Propose this system to the inhabitants of our colder and damper climate, whose very young ladies, fair and delicate-looking as they are, need a helping of good roast-beef for dinner to keep life in them, and they would only laugh at you.
Outwardly serene, but smiling triumphantly within, we went to our daily roast-beef, and in the sweet simplicity of a blissful ignorance and a clear conscience assured our patient hostess that the dog-days and her unworthy guests should go out together. Yet we never told a lie or wilfully deceived any man, much less a woman. But we anticipate.
Charles Wilmot in the school, with a very nice well-dressed set of boys and girls, and But there is no need to describe the roast-beef and plum-pudding, "the feast ate merrily," and Ethel was brilliantly happy waiting on the children, and so was sunny-hearted Meta. Flora was too busy in determining what the Riverses might be thinking of her and her sister to give herself up to the enjoyment.
I felt I was a "gone coon" if I let this sort of thing go on; so I asked them what they were doing in Sydney, dined with them the same evening, and by that day week we had made up a picnic to Parramatta, where we could have the pleasure of a boat on the salt-water creek that people there call the Parramatta River, and could have a pleasant country ramble and a dinner out in the sunshine, with the thermometer at 85° in the shade, or thereabout capital weather for plum-pudding; but we had plum-pudding and roast-beef, too, with iced champagne; the plum-pudding made beforehand and heated over a fire made of sticks in an iron skillet; the roast-beef cold, with Sydney pickle, and bottled beer from England, rather dearer than champagne, and, what was better than either, some Australian wine, made from the Reisling grape, and about as good as most of the hock we ever get in London.
Upon his coming home, the first complaint he made was, that he had lost his roast-beef stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin, which was served up according to custom; and you know he used to take great delight in it. From that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept a good heart to the last.
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