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This were no contemptible joy, which the thin-blooded philosopher might laugh at, better, indeed, than most to be found here on this fog-rounded flat of ours, where some few melodies from heaven and countless blasts from hell meet, and make such strange, unequal dissonance.
"Oh, well, I dare say he will turn up in due course; let me hear before you go to bed if he has come back;" and he poured himself out another cup of tea, for he was one of those thin-blooded and old-womanly men who elevate the drinking of tea instead of other liquids into a special merit. "He could not understand," he said, "why everybody did not drink tea.
She had learned to love his fine, thin-blooded nature which with a tense, egotistic, almost morbid love loved whatever belonged to it by ties of relationship or family, and cared nought for anything in all the great world outside, except for what they thought, what their opinion was nothing else.
It was of no use to recall the many instances where praise to the face had redounded to the everlasting honor of praiser and bepraised; of no use to dwell sentimentally on modest genius and courage lifted up and strengthened by open commendation; of no use to except to the mysterious female, to picture her as rearing a thin-blooded generation on selfish and mechanically repeated axioms all this failed to counteract the monotonous repetition of this sentence.
And so to him, too, farewell. Perchance he will find himself better placed in the Valhalla of his forefathers, surrounded by those stout old de la Molles whose memory he regarded with so much affection, than here in this thin-blooded Victorian era.
You rustle some wood for the stove, and I'll see what I can do for him." Wetherford was old and wasted and thin-blooded, but he had never been a coward, and in his heart there still burned a small flame of his youthful, reckless, generous daring. Pushing Cavanagh one side, he said, with firm decision: "You keep out o' there. I'm the one to play nurse. This is my job."
"There," he said cheerfully, "will be the first power house, and there mill number one." Riggs, a small thin-blooded man, peered at the glassy landscape. "Splendid," he chattered, while Stoughton pulled his fur collar over his ears and set his back to the wind. "Up at the north end, you can see it better if you step a little this way will be the head gates.
She has wanted a home all her life, and she'd have made a lovely one, too, for children! And she's been kept from it by all this fool's talk about womanliness." "Help! What under the sun are you..." began Penfield. "Why, look here, she's not and never was, the kind any man wants to marry. She wouldn't have liked a real husband, either... poor, dear, thin-blooded old child!
A man who is so thin-blooded that the one way he can get work out of himself is to make money the man who grows rich by ordering, by gobbling, and by hiring gobblers and plodders, cannot function under the new conditions.
I should have hired a rig, irrespective of you " The girl laughed. "Oh, you're getting thin-blooded, Herman. Life in the city has taken the starch all out of you." "Better grow limp in a great city than freeze stiff in the country," he replied. An hour's ride brought them into a yard before a large gray-white frame house. Herman sprang out to meet a tall old man with head muffled up. "Hello, dad!
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