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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Did it never occur to you to write to anybody else, to Mr. Jewdwine, for instance?" She brought out the question shrinkingly, as if urged against her will by some intolerable compulsion, and he judged that this time they had touched what was, for her, a vital point. "Of course it occurred to me. Haven't you heard from him?" "I have. But hardly in time for him to do anything." He reflected.
Those young men in the white waistcoats had often laughed at Caroline rather than at her wit; she was, as Sophia had shrinkingly divined, as often as not their butt, and dear Caroline had never known it; she must never know it, never know it.
I promise to be your counsellor and comrade. Let us begin our studies at once. Do you see that little theatre-bill fastened to the wall? Eckhof appears as Cato to-night." "Go to the theatre!" said Lupinus, shrinkingly. "How! I go to the theatre?" "And why not, friend?" said Joseph.
His face was quite pale; he looked about him shrinkingly, with a latent, apprehensive excitement strangely out of keeping with the void stillness of the hollow, a spot which seemed to claim as little on the score of human interest or association as any they had passed on their long road hither. "Well, it's just this way, Mr.
All night William Lorimer and his little troop rode, not cautiously and shrinkingly, but boldly; and they went into camp in the early morning in Sherwood Forest, more miles away from home than Hugo and Humphrey had covered in all their journeying.
Truth is, I had received a note that morning which had excited me. It referred to Mrs. Falchion. For I was an arch-plotter or had been. I received a note in reply which said that she would do as I wished. Meanwhile I was anxiously awaiting the arrival of some one. That night a letter came to Roscoe. After reading it shrinkingly he handed it to me.
She stood, shrinkingly, before him, as if she were afraid to meet his eyes; but her passionate sorrow was quite hushed and mute. 'If you heerd, said Mr. Peggotty, 'owt of what passed between Mas'r Davy and me, th' night when it snew so hard, you know as I have been wheer not fur to seek my dear niece. My dear niece, he repeated steadily.
"Ellen Duncan, is not that your name?" was the first question. "It is, Sir," she shrinkingly answered, without raising her eyes. "Do you know the prisoner at the bar?" "Do I know the pres'ner at the bar?" she reiterated; "do I know Owen Duncan? Shure, isn't he my husband?" "Do you recollect the night of the twenty-first of September?" "I do, Sir."
O fearful thing! why come to tell dead men's tales here? You are done with the world. What wants mankind with you? Begone! sink, and rise no more! It will not sink; still it rises, and the green gloom lightens as it slowly buoys upwards. The light rests shrinkingly on it, revealing the dreadful features. The limbs are no longer pliant, but stiff, terribly stiff and unyielding.
Well, they'd ought to given you some money, too they've got enough. I read in the paper about your singin' and faintin' away." "In the newspaper?" Polly's face showed her astonishment. "Sure! Did n't you know it? I should think some o' them doctors or nurses might have let you see the piece. And they'd ought to had your picture taken to go along with it." "Oh, no!" breathed Polly shrinkingly.
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