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Updated: June 20, 2025
He was dressed all in black, except little red boots which he had on, and he rides up and down the corridor hop! hop! hop! stares at my fool and makes a face at him; then rides off again hop! hop! hop! till he vanished behind the barrel. No one would believe the fool's story; but woe, alas! it soon became clear what the little manikin Puck denoted.
Spunyarn shakes his head reprovingly, fusses over Tom, turns him over on his wales, as he has it, and finally gets him on his beam's ends, a besotted wreck unable to carry his canvas. "Lost yeer reckonin', eh, Tom?" he continues as that bewildered individual stares vacantly at him.
I was going to feed them." "Are they very hungry?" "Very poverini! they have had nothing since this morning. Now it is five o'clock." "Don't feed them, Adamo, don't feed them." The marchesa is strangely excited. She holds out her hand to detain him. Adamo stares at her in mute consternation. "The padrona is certainly going mad before she dies," he mutters, trying to get away. "Adamo, come here!"
As tall as ever, moreover, and as lean and clean. How short and fat and dark and debauched he makes one feel! By nothing he says or means, of course, but merely by his old unconscious purity and simplicity that slender straightness which makes him remind you of the spire of an English abbey. He greeted me with smiles, and stares, and alarming blushes.
Miss Vibart stares, forgetting her usually very charming manners for the moment, and then drops her heavily-fringed lids over her eyes. "By-the-by," says Dulce, breaking in upon what threatens to be an awkward pause, "how d'ye do? I don't believe I have said that yet."
For out of seven hundred men in the ship Worcester the same that sank in the Bay of Funchal there was not so much as a powder-boy but could understand every word that I said, whereas on shore there is many a great jolterhead, like thyself, who might be a Portugee for all the English that he knows, and who stares at me like a pig in a hurricane if I do lint ask him what he makes the reckoning, or how many bells have gone.
Must those four march for ever round the world till our eyes are wearied with the treading of the feet of the Seasons that will not cease, while Night and Day and Life and Death drearily rise and fall?" And as a child stares at the bare walls of a narrow hut, so the gods looked all listlessly upon the worlds, saying: "Will no new thing be?"
"Now a good tune, or a song, or a bit of reading, I can take hold of and carry along, but it's poor sport to see a man twist hisself, and make mouths, and point about at nothing at all. I remember the first time the curate did it. He stares straight at me for a second, and then he shakes his fist and shouts out suddenly: `Wretch! or `Villain! or summat of that sort.
She pulled her chair closer to the window and, with elbows on its sill and chin on her crossed hands, looked out into the soft silence of the night. "What a time for seeing clearly, seeing things just as they are, this midnight is, Gibbie Gault! In the darkness wasted time stares you in the face and facts refuse to turn their backs.
She sat there with clasped hands, quite unconscious of the things about her. She saw no persons, apparently, but Ingmar saw them only too well. They came running after the wagon, and did not wonder at their running or their stares. They must have thought that their eyes had deceived them.
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