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Updated: May 5, 2025
She gave him a sharp glance. The woman had an extraordinary play of feature, Duane thought, and unless she was smiling was not pretty at all. "I've been alone," replied Duane. "Haven't seen anybody but a sick-looking girl with a bucket. And she ran when she saw me." "That was Jen," said Mrs. Bland. "She's the kid we keep here, and she sure hardly pays her keep. Did Euchre tell you about her?"
He was just out of the hospital, and desperately sick-looking, and with a helpless arm; also he had no overcoat, and shivered pitifully. But, alas, it was again the case of the honest merchant, who finds that the genuine and unadulterated article is driven to the wall by the artistic counterfeit.
Everything is intensified. Indeed I will have some tea! No lemon, and one lump. One. That's a sick-looking fire, Hope. Good gracious! I just did catch that vase of flowers! Such a stupid fancy, putting flowers everywhere for people to knock over. Well, Miss Keith, have you gotten your breath since you reached New York? Something of a town, isn't it?"
That wasn't her name, and she corrected him, waiting afterward to listen to a strange fairy-like tale. The solitary, sick-looking man, with inky shadows under fixed eyes, was so actual that she recaptured the pungent drift of his burning cigarette. He talked about love in a bitter intensity that hurt her. Yet, at first, he had said that she was lovely, a touch of her ... forever in the memory.
"Your fire's all right now, Bobbie," Don said distinctly. Tim turned up his nose and faced in Wally Woods's direction. But Wally's fire, small and compact, gave him no excuse to tinker. He advanced to where Andy Ford was preparing to fry his meat. "Gee!" he said. "That sure is one sick-looking fire." "Suits me," said Andy. He laid the meat in the pan. Tim began to prod the fire with his foot.
"I say I will, and who shall hinder me?" "Hush, there is a dying man here!" It was the doctor who spoke. A sick-looking, but violent man, who had been reclining in a deck chair not far off, was having a tussle with a doctor, and another man who seemed his valet. "Indeed you should come down, sir," the man was saying, "there is quite a dew falling."
Bost stopped for breath and eyed us. We were a sick-looking crowd. You could almost see the remarks sticking into us and quivering. We had come in feeling pretty virtuous, and what we were getting was a hideous surprise. "Now I want to tell this tea-party something," continued Bost.
"Why, I remember, Nero, we once had in this circus a lion just about like you. He always said he'd run away if he got the chance. Well, one day his cage was left open by accident, and he ran away." "What happened?" asked Nero. "Well, he ran back again, the next day, and a more sorry or sick-looking lion you never saw! He was bedraggled and lame and hungry and thirsty!
"So long, Aunt Liberty," sweetly called Diana of the Tower. "Some night, when the wind's right. I'll call you up again. But say! you haven't got such a fierce kick coming about your job. I've kept a pretty good watch on the island of Manhattan since I've been up here. That's a pretty sick-looking bunch of liberty chasers they dump down at your end of it; but they don't all stay that way.
Mother shrieked louder, and wrung her hands; but it had no effect on Bluey. He was a good dog, was Bluey! At last, Mother got him by the tail and dragged him off, but he took a mouthful of kangaroo with him as he went. Then the kangaroo raised itself slowly on to its hands and knees. It was very white and sick-looking, and Mother threw her arms round it and cried, "Oh, Joe! My child! my child!"
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