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Updated: June 12, 2025
They died when they headed reluctantly back to the Niccola and detonated two miles from their parent ship. The skipper's voice came: "Mr. Taine! After your next salvo I shall head for the Plumie at full drive, to cut down the distance and the time they have to work in. Be ready!" The rocket tubes went crump-crump again, with a fifth of a second interval.
The artist colored again as he returned curiously, "Upon what?" "Upon the start you have made toward the goal you hope to reach." "What do you mean?" "Mrs. Taine wants you." "You are pleased to be facetious." Under the eyes of his companion, Aaron King felt that his reply did not at all conceal his satisfaction. "I am pleased to be exact. I repeat Mrs. Taine wants you.
Thorough master of the tools of his craft, and of his own technic, as well; he was interested in the mere exercising of his skill, but he in no sense lost himself in his work. Two or three times, Mrs. Taine saw him glance quickly over his shoulder, as though expecting some one.
He was released, but was again seized, and, with St. Just, Couthon, and most of the leaders of the commune, was guillotined. Bare statistics, accompanied by no thrilling descriptions, convey a strong impression of the atrocities of the Reign of Terror. According to M. Taine, "there were guillotined at Paris, between April 16, 1793, and the 9th Thermidor, 2,625 persons.
As the novelist finished speaking, Yee Kee appeared in the doorway. "They come big automobile. Whole lot people. Misse Taine, Miste' Lutlidge, sick man, whole lot I come tell you." The artist spoke quickly, "Stop them in the house, Kee; I'll be right in," and the Chinaman vanished. At Yee Kee's announcement, Myra Willard's face went white, and she gave a low cry.
In this France of intellect, which is also a France of pessimism, Schopenhauer has perhaps become more at home, and more indigenous than he has ever been in Germany; not to speak of Heinrich Heine, who has long ago been re-incarnated in the more refined and fastidious lyrists of Paris; or of Hegel, who at present, in the form of Taine the FIRST of living historians exercises an almost tyrannical influence.
He reflected doubtfully. "Why, of course, Mr. Taine, Louise, and Jim, we are all going together don't you see? I don't believe you want to go," she pouted. "I believe you want to forget." Her alluring manner, the invitation conveyed in her words and voice, the touch of her hand on his arm, and the nearness of her person, fairly swept the man off his feet.
Taine, whose feeble grip upon the flesh that had so betrayed him was, by now, so far loosed that he could scarcely walk alone, set the painter struggling for words that would mean nothing the only words that, under the circumstances, could serve.
She had read voraciously and promiscuously one subject after another. Ruskin and Taine had danced merrily through her mind, hand in hand with Darwin and Stuart Mill, Gustave Droz and Algernon Swinburne. She had even laboured over the literature of her own country. She was perhaps, the only woman in New York who knew something of American history.
The man who thinks, as Taine thought, that sayings of this sort are mere commonplaces, will never understand Johnson: he may give up the attempt at once. The true commonplace is like the money of a spendthrift heir: his guineas come and go without his ever thinking for a moment where they came from or whither they go.
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