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Updated: June 14, 2025
My dear one!" His voice, too, was sharp and pained; he strove to turn in his chair, but she restrained him. "No! No! Say it without looking. You know me? I am Maxine?" "Of course you are Maxine!" "Ah!" It was a short, swift sound like the sobbing breath of a spent runner.
As their companions also bestirred themselves in the daylight, she was afraid to meet their eyes, and strove to conceal her face.
Halpen strove to reach the overturned canoe. It was too far away. He felt himself going down for a third time and his lungs were already half filled with water. A fearful scream rent the night the last cry of a terrified soul going to its end and he sank. He never rose to the surface after that third plunge beneath the lake.
She dragged out her interview with the music-master, put questions wide of the point, insisted on lingering till he had arranged another hour for the postponed rehearsal; and, as she walked, as she talked, as she listened to Monsieur Boehmer's ridiculous English, she strove in vain to recall jot or tittle of Oliver's relations to foreign powers.
Again and again the changes came and went. It was like one great, prolonged conflict wherein the darkening veil strove to hide the criminal secrets upon the earth below from the searching gaze. For awhile the moon held sway. The river lit, a perfect mirror. Only the shadowed banks remained. Round the bend came a trifling object, small, uncertain in its outline.
Pointing upward, he began to rain bullets and shrapnel into the fleeing German, his Lewis gun working automatically, and with such precision that the German shot off at right angles, dived, and strove to come up underneath his assailant. But he was too slow.
She strove to repress the thoughts which made her bosom swell and heave, yet it was from them her words came when she broke the silence. "It is bitterest to find one's self mistaken. To find that our gods are only clay like the rest of humanity. I could forgive a friend for neglect, abuse or any cruelty; but I could never forgive him for falling below my ideal of him."
I took it, for I ever strove to bring up my children in the ways o' honesty; and certes she had spoiled the contents o' the caldron by turning it into a bath-tub for Master Mouldy. Well, 'twas th' talk o' th' village for full a month; scarce did young Mouldy dare put out his nose from behind the lattice o' his mother's cottage.
By way of showing what difficulties men had to overcome who then desired to serve their country, I will mention a single incident of his later career. His favorite work, the École Militaire, of which he was the first superintendent, shared the unpopularity of its early patron, Madame de Pompadour, and long he strove in vain to bring it into favor.
How he strove to please her! The place where he had known her was the only place for him. On each of his birthdays Damocles received a long fatherly letter and a handsome present from the Major, and by the time he went away to school at Wellingborough, he wondered who on earth the Major might be.
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