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And she provided him besides with a ball of thread, bidding him to fasten the end of it to the entrance of the Labyrinth, and unwind it as he went in, that it might serve him as a clue to find his way out again.
A speaker who has lost the thread of his discourse, a soldier who with a bayonet at his throat has forgotten the password I felt like them, and worse. And to crown all I felt my faintness coming back, and my head dropping with heaviness. I was in a torment of impotence. Arcoll, still holding my hands, brought his face close to mine, so that his clear eyes mastered and constrained me.
I have read the Arabian Nights, here is their very essence: two flowers, and the question is settled. We clear the fourteen volumes of Clarissa Harlowe with a bouquet. I writhe before this letter, like a thread in the fire. To take, or not to take, my two camellias. Yes or No, kill or give life! At last a voice cries to me, "Test him!" And I will test him.
In the purplish confusion of the distance, a tangled and yet ordered regiment of trunks and boughs, sun-splotches and shadow-blots, through which the uncertain trail seemed to rise like a slender thread of smoke to the pale, flecked sky, Pete made out a moving shape. It slipped in and out; it hesitated, hurried, paused, moved on.
Her golden-brown hair was still richly luxuriant, and only the most rigorous search would have revealed the presence of a silver thread here and there.
The latter was also writing on that day to the Lieutenant-General, taking up the thread of his own story from the time he reached Fayetteville and learned that Johnston had been put in command of all the forces opposing him.
Grant protested that he smoked too much. She produced a box of cigars and extended them to him. Then she held a match while he got his light. "Your standards have changed?" said Grant, taking up the thread when she had sat down again. "They have. They have changed more than Frank's, which makes me feel rather at fault in the matter.
A moment, and a thread of light came through the gap above the latch. "They is!" cried the section-boss. A cheer replied. A sharp command was sung out to them. "Keep back! Out of the way!" Again the door was thumped; then great pressure was put upon it. It opened, letting in a half-dozen men and a wide path of warm sunlight. "Hurrah! hurrah!" "Folks, you snowed in?" "Thank God, you're all right."
He examined the dried glass plates from the vacuum drier. The fractionator turned itself off and he focused on and studied the slide it yielded. He inspected a sample of the dust he'd gotten from the garments that had been sprayed at the south gate. The dust contained common dust particles and pollen particles and thread particles and all sorts of microscopic debris.
The bee must gather her wax, and build her cell, and fetch home her honey, or starve. The ant must build her palace and look out for food both for herself and her family. The spider must spin her thread, and weave her web, and watch all day for her prey. All seek their food from God, and obtain it at his hands as the reward of their industry.
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