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Updated: May 18, 2025
Why, how very, very glad she was to see her dear Rosalie again! And how Rosalie had developed! "Why, Rosalie, you are beautiful! You are! And you don't blush or simper to hear it! Yes, you are beautiful." There was a little room in a street somewhere off the Harrow Road that Miss Keggs now occupied. It was a forbidding street.
Over the head an oval medallion, nailed into the cross, serves as framework to a miniature of the Madonna, softly smiling with a Correggiesque simper. The whole Crucifix is not a work of art, but such as may be found in every convent. Its date cannot be earlier than the beginning of the eighteenth century.
Having dismissed his cab, he walked slowly down the street till he reached a small house with red pillars to the doorway. Here he rang the bell. The door was opened by a middle-aged woman with a cunning face and a simper. Mr. Quest knew her well. Nominally the Tiger's servant, she was really her jackal. "Is Mrs. d'Aubigne at home, Ellen?" he said.
And I think a monkey would have burst into laughter to see the bald-headed old satyr beat his bosom, flourish his arms, ogle, languish, and simper, all with a cut-throat expression, too, soften his voice, and act in short as if he was not telling me as big a lie as was ever related on shipboard.
On the last day of the month a step was heard coming up the long alley which led from the riotous scrambling street to the plentiful cheerful heart of the Aurora. The landlady knew the step. She checked the natural flutterings of her ribbons, toned down the strong simper that was on her lips, rose, pushed aside her daughter, and, as the step approached, curtsied composedly.
Meanwhile Rudin had approached Natalya. She got up; her face expressed her confusion. Volintsev, who was sitting near her, got up too. 'I see a piano, began Rudin, with the gentle courtesy of a travelling prince; 'don't you play on it? 'Yes, I play, replied Natalya, 'but not very well. Here is Konstantin Diomiditch plays much better than I do. Pandalevsky put himself forward with a simper.
Miss Sallianna was a young lady of thirty-two or three, with long corkscrew curls, a wiry figure a smile, of the description called "simper," on her lips, and an elegant mincing carriage of the person as she moved.
Toole behind the central throne, bawling out to the assembled guests and dignitaries: "My Lord So-and-so, my Lord What-d'ye-call-'im, my Lord Etcaetera, the Lord Mayor pledges you all in a loving-cup." Then the noble proceedings come to an end; Lord Simper proposes the ladies; the company rises from table, and adjourns to coffee and muffins.
But still she kept on singing, with twisted lips that strove to simper, and once she tried to sway her ungainly body into an uncouth dancing-step that brought her floundering to her knees. "A devil has possession of her," Elfgiva shrieked. "Take her out of my sight, or I shall go mad! Take her away take her away!"
"Those who dropped in yesterday." "But what will you do to make it party-like?" "Simper. Aren't you coming too?" "Not if you think it would do for me to say that I held party-going wrong for a clergyman. Could I? I might win over Mrs. Upjohn to the Church by so holy a statement." "You had better take to round-dancing instead, then, to keep her out of it."
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