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Updated: May 2, 2025
He sips gin the live-long day weak gin always every hour from morn till a cruel Legislature compels the closing of the shutters. He is never intoxicated it is simply a habit, a sort of fuel to feed the low cunning in which his soul delights.
Just upon midnight, she suddenly, with a convulsive movement raised herself in bed I was sitting beside her and in the same hurried voice, continually taking sips of water, from a glass beside her, feebly gesticulating with her hands, and never once looking at me, she began to tell her story.... She would stop, make an effort to control herself and go on again.... It was all so strange, just as though she were doing it all in a dream, as though she herself were absent, and some one else were speaking by her lips, or forcing her to speak.
I found that I could sleep after the coffee and lay awake after the tea; which is proof conclusive of some chemical disparity; and even by the palate I could distinguish a smack of snuff in the former from a flavour of boiling and dish-cloths in the second. As a matter of fact, I have seen passengers, after many sips, still doubting which had been supplied them.
Also when that was gone there was no more. So she drank half of it in slow sips, then tied the string as well as she was able and set it down again. Now the wine, although it was mixed with water, took hold of her who for so long had eaten nothing save a mouldy crust, so that strange sounds drummed in her ears, and sinking down against the column she became senseless for a while.
Veronica took several sips of the brandy which remained at the bottom of the cup, collected her thoughts for a moment, and casting her eyes down with a modest air, she proceeded: The good Monsieur Fortin, as perhaps you know, used to drink a little of an evening. Oh, he used to drink!
Seeing this, a husky German private, who looked as though in private life he might be a piano mover, brought out of his blanket roll a bottle of white wine and, holding the scared, exhausted lad against his chest, ministered to him with all gentleness, and gave him sips of the wine. In the line of duty I suppose he would have shot that boy with the same cheerful readiness.
He hopes that he has enjoyed his little journey; then sips his tea, and looks to see if the windows are closed; shakes himself gently, and says he feels chilly; that the September evenings are already autumnal, and that the time is coming when we must begin to read aloud again after tea. And what book shall we read? Perhaps the best of all we can select is Irving's Life of Columbus; Mr.
Except perhaps the delicate creature at whom the doctor between sips of his tea took rather wistful observations. "When are you going to Mrs. Evelyn?" he said breaking the silence. "They say next week, sir." "I shall be glad of it!" said the doctor. "Glad of it?" said Fleda smiling. "Do you want to get rid of me, uncle Orrin?" "Yes!" said he. "This isn't the right place for you.
He then filled out a second measure, which he gave to Diana. She took it, raised it to her lips, took one or two sips, and then gave it to Orion. "There's something sick inside of me," she said. "I don't know what's the matter; I isn't well." "She had a bad fall last night at the circus," said Orion. "She fell from one of the rings. I s'pect something's cracked inside her head."
A fairytale, like a butterfly or a bee, helps itself on all sides, sips at every wholesome flower, and spoils not one. The true fairytale is, to my mind, very like the sonata.
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