Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 3, 2025
Tage ran up the stairs to see if there might not be people somewhere in the house, and Mrs. Fonss in the meantime walked up and down the arcade. As she was on the turn toward the gate a tall man with a bearded, tanned face, appeared at the end of the passage directly in front of her. He had a guide-book in his hand; he listened for something, and then looked forward, straight at her.
"Hello!" cried Tage, striking his light trousers with the flat of his hand, "look!" They looked. Out in the brown landscape appeared a cloud of dust, over it a mantle of dust, and between the two they caught sight of a horse. "That's the Englishman, I told you about, who came the other day," said Tage, turning toward his mother.
"Step-father," cried Tage, "I hope that he does not for one moment dare.... You are mad. Where he enters, we go out. There isn't any power on earth that can force me into the slightest intimacy with that person. Mother must choose he or we! If they go to Denmark after their marriage, then we are exiles; if they stay here, we leave." "And those are your intentions, Tage?" asked Mrs. Fonss.
The Englishman of yesterday immediately came to her mind. "Pardon me?" he began interrogatively, and bowed. "I am a stranger," Mrs. Fonss replied, "nobody seems to be at home, but my son has just run upstairs to see whether...." These words were exchanged in French. At this moment Tage arrived. "I have been everywhere," he said, "even in the living quarters, but didn't find as much as a cat."
Every day that passed the children forgot more and more what their mother had meant to them, in the fashion in which children who believe themselves wronged will forget a thousand benefactions for the sake of one injustice. Tage was the most sensitive of them, but also the one who was hurt most deeply, because he had loved most.
The suspicion aroused in the General's heart became all but a certainty with the vague reminiscence of a sad, delicious melody, the air of Fleuve du Tage. The woman he loved had played the prelude to the ballad in a boudoir in Paris, how often! and now this nun had chosen the song to express an exile's longing, amid the joy of those that triumphed. Terrible sensation!
To the first outburst of Sterne enthusiasm belongs an anonymous product, “Zween Tage eines Schwindsüchtigen, etwas Empfindsames,” von L.
Even though she but dimly remembered him, she recreated him for herself in most vivid fashion by becoming absorbed in everything she had ever heard about him. She asked Kastager about him and Tage, and every morning and night she kissed a medallion-portrait of his which belonged to her.
Fonss could not bear the thought that Tage's father-in-law should be mentioned with a twinkle in the eye and a smile round the mouth, and for that reason she exhibited a certain coldness toward the family to the great sorrow of the enamored Tage. On the morning of the following day Tage and his mother had gone to look at the little museum of the town.
"I can sing 'Fluvy du Tajy," Swartz said, in a meek voice, "if I had the words." It was the last of the worthy young woman's collection. "O, 'Fleuve du Tage," Miss Maria cried; "we have the song," and went off to fetch the book in which it was. "Lor!" cried Miss Swartz, spinning swiftly round on the music-stool, "is it my Amelia? Amelia that was at Miss P.'s at Hammersmith? I know it is.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking