Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 9, 2025
She wore the identical gray suit of years before and her face was still unlined and dubiously clean. "How do you do, Miss Francis? I'm glad to find you among the lucky ones. Nowadays if we don't hear from old friends we automatically assume their loss." She looked at me as one scans an acquaintance whose name has been embarrassingly forgotten.
The fallen man drops his head into his hands, stabbed with remorse, while the vote-cribber folds his brawny arms leisurely, paces to and fro before him, and scans him with his keen, gray eyes, after the manner of one mutely contemplating an imprisoned animal. "You need not give yourself so much concern about me "
He rises a second time, advances to a gas-light, draws a letter from his pocket, and scans, with an air of evident satisfaction, over the contents. "Umph!" he resumes, and shrugs his shoulders, "I was right on the address-ought to have known it without looking."
Marjorie repeated the verse, her eyes on the rolling emerald spread: "Who rightly scans thy beauty, a world of truth must read; Of life and hope and duty; our help in time of need. And I have read them often, those words so true and clear, What heart that would not soften, thy wisdom to revere."
But wise is the reader who, on meeting such a character, scans him carefully, and, instead of shrinking from him with distaste, probes him to the springs of his being.
The night editor scans the dark face. It is serious enough. It is the night editor's method to rule his people by the moderation of his speech. In this way they do all the work and thank him for keeping his nose out of affairs. "We hear, commodore, that you have moved your household gods." "Yes," grunts Corkey. To the jam-jorum Corkey must be civil, as he will tell you. "Where to?"
There is another long pause, during which he eagerly scans her face. Suddenly her eyes light up, and she returns his glance. "Are you really willing to marry me?" she says. "Why do you ask?" he returns, simply. "Are my eyes not honest?" Virginia smiles. "If you mean it," she says, "go now, and write me the same words to-night or to-morrow." So, as she bids him, he goes.
Reluctantly, but carefully, he scans the apartment, no remotest spot escapes his roused attention. But no object, dead or living, attracts his notice! The room is empty! He staggers. His hold upon the door relaxes. His lamp falls to the ground; the door closes with a soft but deadly thud behind him, and he is a prisoner in the haunted chamber!
He rises a second time, advances to a gas-light, draws a letter from his pocket, and scans, with an air of evident satisfaction, over the contents. "Umph!" he resumes, and shrugs his shoulders, "I was right on the address ought to have known it without looking."
"And so, July 19th, 1747, the Chevalier comes in sight of the Place; scans a little the frowning buttresses, bristly with guns; the dumb Alps, to right and left, looking down on him and it.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking