Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 6, 2025
Blake pushed his way through the little hall-way and into the dimly-lighted parlor, where a strange scene met his eyes: Lieutenant Hayne lay senseless and white upon the lounge across the room; a young and pretty woman, singularly like him in feature and in the color of her abundant tresses, was kneeling beside him, chafing his hands, imploring him to speak, to look at her, unmindful of the fact that her feet were bare and that only a loose wrapper was thrown over her white night-dress; Captain Rayner was seated in a chair, deathly white, and striving to stanch the blood that flowed from a deep gash in his temple and forehead; he seemed still stunned as by the force of the blow that had felled him; and Buxton, speechless with amaze and heaven only knows what other emotions, was glaring at a tall, athletic stranger who, in stocking-feet, undershirt, and trousers, held by three frightened-looking soldiers and covered by the carbine of a fourth, was hurling defiance and denunciation at the commanding officer.
"Take off your boots. Then you can climb. When we get over the wall it'll be easy," she said. In his stocking-feet he had no great difficulty walking up the first bulge of the walls. And from there she led him up the strange waves of wind-worn rock. He could not attend to anything save the red, polished rock under him, and so saw little.
It discovered Bolton sitting in the outer doorway, his back against one jamb and his stocking-feet resting against the base of the other. "Mrs. Bolton," Annie began at once, making herself free of one of the hard kitchen chairs, "how is Mr. Peck getting on in Hatboro'?" "I d'know as I know just what you mean, Miss Kilburn," said Mrs. Bolton, on the defensive.
Far back in the great days of the monarchy, Papa Barlasch must have been a little child in a peasant's hut on those Cotes du Nord where they breed a race of Frenchmen startlingly similar to the hereditary foe across the Channel, where to this day the men kick off their sabots at the door and hold that an honest labourer has no business under a roof except in stocking-feet and shirt-sleeves.
"It is now or never!" mumbled B.J., clenching his teeth after the manner of all well-regulated desperados. He sneaked into his clothes, and descended the cold, creaking staircase in his stocking-feet. Then he put on his rubber boots, and stole out of the house like a burglar.
A small boy was hidden in the house, a window was opened, and at the proper witching hour of night a stout individual crept up-stairs in his stocking-feet, and was already at Kate Vavasor's door, when, in the dark, dressed only in his nightshirt, wholly unarmed, George Vavasor flew at the fellow's throat.
Though he was in his stocking-feet and coat-less, though the back of his neck was a scraggle of hair, Parker Heye was preferable to the three Swiss waiters snoring in the hot room under the eaves, with its door half open, opposite the half-open door of the room where negro chambermaids tumbled and snorted in uncouth slumber.
"There 'ain't anythin' happened, has there, Cephas?" said Sarah, presently. Cephas pulled off the second boot, and sat holding his blue yarn stocking-feet well up from the wet floor. "There ain't no need of havin' the rheumatiz, accordin' to my way of thinkin'," said he. "Who's got the rheumatiz, Cephas?" "If folks lived right they wouldn't have it." "You 'ain't got it, have you, Cephas?"
Behold, then, a little, solemn-looking man in his stocking-feet, seated cross-legged on an Indian mat by my parlor window. He had made all his arrangements himself, and I deemed it wisest not to interfere with him. The cutting-out was the most difficult part, and, as he had never made a lady's riding-habit, that task fell to my share.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking