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Updated: May 15, 2025


The chill of the water crept up and closed over his head; the steady throb-throb of the air-pump beat against his skull; and a little shiver took him in one small spot between the shoulder blades, because he knew that it was there that an Italian, if he can manage it, always plants a knife in his enemy. He reached the end of the ladder and slid down a rope.

The throb-throb of her slow screw working against the breeze was much more perceptible than when she was going full speed ahead; and the friction of the wind against the underside of the gas-chamber drove a series of shallow ripples along it and made a faint flapping sound like, but fainter than, the beating of ripples under the stem of a boat.

Shall you stay till I have appeared at the Opéra Comique?" "I was hoping to, and if you say you would like me to " "Ah!" she exclaimed, "I do." And she looked up. Her lovely eyes had a suspicion of moisture. The blood rushed through my head, and I could feel its turbulent throb-throb across the temples and at my heart. I was in heaven, and residence in heaven makes one bold.

From the swaying and trembling of the hull it was evident the "Yankee" was being pushed at her utmost speed. Mess gear rattled in the chests, the deck quivered, and from down in the lower depths came the quick throb-throb of the overworked engines. Presently the red glare caused by the upleaping flames from the funnel died away, and darkness settled down again.

"I have no evidence, sir, for doubting King Theodore's," I answered as carelessly as I could, hoping the while that none of them heard the beating of my heart, loud in my own ears as the throb-throb of a pump. "If you be indeed King Theodore's son, then your father " "Say on, sir." "Why, then, your father, sir, practised some economy in telling me the truth.

She dozes away now and then, but the warm throb-throb of the strong heart which makes her husband's breast to rise and fall continually arouses her again. Halil Patrona is reading in a big clasped book beautifully written in the ornamental Talik script.

The three swarthy musicians who accompanied them crossed their lean legs on the tiles and set up their throb-throb and thrum-thrum, and on a narrow strip of terrace the youths began their measured steps. It was a grave static dance, such as David may have performed before the Ark; untouched by mirth or folly, as beseemed a dance in that sombre land, and borrowing its magic from its gravity.

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