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Realization of this incredible fact wiped the maudlin pity from his mind and replaced it with fear. Had his mind snapped in the strain of the last match? These thoughts weren't his. Self-pity hadn't made him a Winner why was he feeling it now? Anvhar was his universe how could he even imagine it as a tag-end planet at the outer limb of creation?
Practice was not so much subordinated to knowledge as treated as a kind of tag-end or aftermath of knowledge. The educational result was only to confirm the exclusion of active pursuits from the school, save as they might be brought in for purely utilitarian ends the acquisition by drill of certain habits.
They traveled as far as Cheslow together, where Heavy and Belle and Lluella went to their homes for a day or two, to finish out the tag-end of the vacation, while the Steeles and Isadore went home with the Camerons, and Ruth returned to the Red Mill. And how glad Aunt Alvirah was to see Ruth!
Mine are so shabby beside them. I'm about the tag-end of our set, anyhow, in matters of dress. I think, Susie, you might give me a hundred or two dollars." "To waste in ribbons and bonnets?" asked business-woman Susan. "Why, Susie, how you do talk! A body would think you had never worn a ribbon, and that you'd gone bareheaded all the days of your life.
He is just up from nervous prostration and ordered to a more relaxing climate, so we got him at a bargain." "Damaged goods. I see. Seen him, Opdyke? Hood and all it's of white bunny he looks like the tag-end of an importer's mark-down sale, and his idioms match the rest of him. Where'd they get him, Olive? Not your father?" "My father didn't get him, if that is what you mean, Dolph. Mr.
Those who have followed that history must know, of course, that the reigning princess, Yetive, was married to a young American at the very tag-end of the nineteenth century. This admirable couple met in quite romantic fashion while the young sovereign was traveling incognito through the United States of America.
"He had come in quite at the tag-end of one of her stories, but it had been sufficient to do his business he had danced with her, had even whistled while she sung.
By this time poor old Tim's weak brains were muddled, and he was discovered leaning back against the wall and mumbling out the tag-end of an old song: "On' Humphry wi' his flail, But Kitty she wur the charming ma-aid To carry th' milking pa-ail!"
Phil frowned, looking at his empty hand. It seemed to him that the spray of flowers had inexplicably vanished. There was an elusive sense of disorientation, a feeling of something overlooked. There was the tag-end of a remembered grief. There was "You were right, Uncle Phil. They have no scent." "What?" He looked around blankly, saw Timmy tossing the spray aside. "Oh ... there it is.
When there wasn't nothin' I wouldn't try once, when all I wanted was a gun and a hoss and a song to keep me from tradin' with kings. No, it ain't goin' to be easy for me when Dan goes away. But what's my tag-end of life compared with yours? You got to be given a chance; you got to be kept away from Dan. That's why I told him, finally, that I thought I could get along without him."
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