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Updated: June 12, 2025
Across his lap lay the short stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day. His chin was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head. As we entered he made neither sound nor motion.
So Unc' Billy spent most of his time studying and thinking of some way to get out, and if he couldn't do that, of some way to warn Jimmy Skunk to keep away from Farmer Brown's hen-house. If it hadn't been for those two worries, Unc' Billy would have been willing to stay there the rest of the winter. It was delightfully warm and cosy. He knew which nest Mrs. Speckles always used and which one Mrs.
Indeed, Miss Kitty had turned aside to continue her stroll towards the meadow when Henrietta Hen spoke to her again. "Don't you think," Henrietta demanded, "that speckles should be worn very small, like mine? Don't you think yours are too big?" "I'd rather not talk with you," said Miss Kitty Cat. "I can see plainly that we'd never agree." "Oh, do stop for a while!" Henrietta Hen besought her.
Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head." "I took a step forward. In an instant his strange head-gear began to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat, diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent..." "Ugh!" said Squiffy. He closed the book and put it down.
Speckles of sunshine trickled down through the foliage and the tree trunks were spotted with yellow light. They ate the berries as they heard the news. A new official news release was out. And now, twelve hours after the last, wholly reassuring bulletin, there was no longer any pretense that the thing in Boulder Lake was merely a meteorite. But reassurance continued.
The house with the roof of dried grass waited and waited there in the place which was neither too high nor too low, too near the river nor too far away, not under too thick trees nor out in the hot sun. It waited and waited until it go so tired it fell down in a heap. How the Speckled Hen Got Her Speckles Once upon a time, ages and ages ago, there was a little white hen.
Inside the Administration shack Kielland found a weary-looking man behind a desk, scribbling furiously at a pile of reports. Everything in the shack was splattered with mud. The crude desk and furniture was smeared; the papers had black speckles all over them. Even the man's face was splattered, his clothing encrusted with gobs of still-damp mud.
The trout are so beautiful now, their sides are so silvery, with dashes of old rose and orange, their speckles are so black, while their backs look as if they had been sprinkled with gold-dust. They bite so well that it doesn't require any especial skill or tackle to catch plenty for a meal in a few minutes. In a little while I went back to where I had left my pony browsing, with eight beauties.
She is slender and straight and white as a church taper; her face is long and pointed; the skin is capricious, to-day like cambric, to-morrow darkened with little speckles beneath its surface, as if her blood had left a deposit of dust there during the night. Her forehead is magnificent, though rather daring.
Bangs," she cried, holding the mirror an inch from his nose. "Look at yourself. You're all broke out with a crash rash, I mean. Ain't he, Miss Martha?" Galusha regarded his reflection in the mirror with astonishment. "Why, I I seem to be ah polka-dotted," he said. "I never saw anything so Dear me, dear me!" He drew his fingers down his cheek. The speckles promptly became streaks.
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