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Updated: May 23, 2025
It was as a student that I first knew Fleeming, as one of that modest number of young men who sat under his ministrations in a soul-chilling class-room at the top of the University buildings.
And when Ella had interrupted, her dark eyes flashing, he had told her with a burst of soul-chilling profanity to mind her own business. And then Pa had come in apparently more drunk than he had ever been.
I should have liked to bring up every possible argument against the folly of a young lady of her position and prospects extinguishing the very light of her existence in that hard, cold, soul-chilling house which I knew so well, but the circumstances did not warrant that. I was obliged to content myself with very simple questions. "'How do the sisters employ themselves? I inquired.
Nor did he recover any portion of his presence of mind till he heard a shrill whoop, savage and soul-chilling, but mortal, and, looking up, saw Kalingalunga go bounding down upon brutus with gigantic leaps, his tomahawk whirling. Crawley cowered like a hare and watched. brutus, surprised but not dismayed, wheeled round and faced the savage, cutlass in hand.
In their new environment they find everything as different in accommodations and treatment as the word hospital in the title of the institution is different in sound and significance from the hope-dispelling, soul-chilling names of "asylum," "mad house," and "bedlam" formerly given to all retreats for the mentally afflicted.
It was as a student that I first knew Fleeming, as one of that modest number of young men who sat under his ministrations in a soul-chilling class-room at the top of the University buildings.
Let us see in this exclamation of His how humanly, and yet how divinely, He felt the loneliness to which His love and purity condemned Him. The plain felt soul-chilling after the blessed communion of the mountain.
His shouts seemed to have aroused the heaving thing, for it answered with a horrid, soul-chilling noise. By this time Calico was leaping frantically, snorting at every jump and forcing Old Jeff to keep pace. They were at the top of a long grade and down the slope the loaded wagon rattled easily behind them. Uncle Enoch did his best.
Sorrow and compassion were painted on the countenances of my keepers. No one spoke; no one bade me good morrow. Dreadful indeed was their arrival; for, unaccustomed to the monstrous bolts and bars, they were kept resounding for a full half-hour before such soul-chilling, such hope-murdering impediments were removed. It was the voice of tyranny that thundered.
Then, across the bend, from the deserted houses of Shanty Town, sounded the long, soul-chilling howl of a dog. A broken crutch lying close to the shack on the river side, a blood-bespattered pane in the window just above, a rifle ball, embedded deep at a gun's length beyond the pane these were the traces that, on the following morning, gave an inkling of a deadly clash.
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