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Updated: June 22, 2025
Caleb made no answer, but one of the Sanhedrim, a sharp-faced man, named Simeon, the friend of Simon, the son of Gioras, the Zealot, who sat next to him, cried, "Cease this foolishness; the daughter of Satan is beautiful; doubtless Caleb desires her for himself; but what has that to do with us?" though he added vindictively, "it should be remembered against him that he is striving to hide the truth."
I took my knife from my pocket, and in a very business-like manner proceeded to taste the article. "Why," said I, "this butter is not good." Here a sharp-faced woman stepped briskly up, and poking her head between us, said, at the highest pitch of her cracked voice, "Yes, it is good; it was made this morning express-ly for the con-sort." "I beg your pardon, madam.
Old Man Curry fought his way through a mob of reporters and fair-weather acquaintances to find himself face to face with the only real surprise of the day. A sharp-faced youth, immaculately dressed, leaped upon him, endeavouring to embrace him, shake his hand and congratulate him, all in a breath. "Frank!" cried the old man. "Bless your heart, boy, where did you come from?"
He thought of some fine Miltonic sayings to hurl at the sexton, but for the life of him he could not get them out. In the presence of that indifferent, sharp-faced crowd of townspeople his throat grew hot and dry whenever he thought of speaking.
"Hey, mister, gimme a nickel an' I'll call a cop for you!" volunteered a small, sharp-faced boy, with a bundle of papers under his arm. Somehow he had managed to squirm through the crowd. Weeks looked at him reproachfully. "You call a constable an' I'll give you the nickel when you come back with him," he said. In spite of her deplorable situation, Bessie wanted to laugh.
"He's a smart-looking boy that. Will that be a son of his?" He pointed to a sharp-faced urchin of twelve who was busy carrying chairs round the corner of the barn, to the tiny house where Wilson meant to live. He was a red-haired boy with an upturned nose, dressed in shirt and knickerbockers only.
A very thin, sharp-faced woman of about forty, with red-rimmed eyes which peered nearsightedly, rose from an old-fashioned roll-top desk and came forward to greet him. "I am Miss Earle, Miss Pendleton's private secretary," she told him, as he shook her bony, clammy hand. "I should have told you when you telephoned this morning that both Miss Pendleton and Miss Macon sailed for Europe yesterday.
As the countryman turned toward his guide, the small sharp-faced woman, who had eyed us so long and often from her bench almost opposite, arose with a movement suggestive of steel springs, and made her way toward us, waving her umbrella to attract attention.
Braxton Wyatt looked thoughtful. "I think you're right," he said; "but it'll be a very risky thing for them, especially if the Shawnees expect it. Be sure you don't let the Indians think you are dreaming of such a thing." "Of course not," said Paul. The sharp-faced chief now came up, and said something to Wyatt. Braxton replied in the Indian tongue.
We of Solong thought her hard, selfish and narrow-minded, and paltry; later on we thought she was a "bit touched;" but local people often think that of strangers. By her voice and her habit of whining she should have been a thin, sharp-faced, untidy, draggled-tailed woman in a back street in London, or a worn-out selector's wife in the bush. She whined about the climate.
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