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Updated: May 2, 2025
Still, there it was, and it seemed rather rotten to me. I didn't like it. Damn it, the chap only had one decent leg under the table and an uncommonly tired-looking face above it, and I felt rather sorry for him."
Dudley Veneer was between herself and the poor tired-looking schoolmistress with her faded colors. Blanche Creamer, a lax, tumble-to-pieces, Greuze-ish looking blonde, whom the Widow hated because the men took to her, was purgatoried between the two old Doctors, and could see all the looks that passed between Dick Venner and his cousin.
But observation was wasted on Stafford who had nothing to conceal, who was merely what he appeared to be, a faded and tired-looking man of middle height, with blue eyes and brown hair turning grey, and wellworn evening clothes a trifle rubbed at the cuffs.
Let me here give another, which forcibly illustrates the subject of oppressive and unjust economy. It is the story of a "Strawberry-Woman," and appeared in one of the magazines some years ago. "Strawb'rees! Strawb'rees! cried a poorly clad, tired-looking woman, about eleven o clock one sultry June morning.
The handsome youth of twenty years since with the flashing eyes and the soft complexion had grown into a sallow, tired-looking man, whose body, in its stoop and its loose fleshiness, betrayed the sedentary labourer, and whose head was quite bald on the top. Unkind critics, who had once compared Albert to an operatic tenor, might have remarked that there was something of the butler about him now.
"Nancy," he said, "are you in the habit of slipping into the cathedral when the janitor is not around?" "Yes, sir." "What for?" "Lookin' at the pretties, an' seein' if there's any nickels under the seats." "You want to buy candy, I suppose?" "No, sir, a bureau." Even the tired-looking probation officer looked up and smiled. "What does a little girl like you want with a bureau?" asked the judge.
The people he saw there were all strangers, tired-looking travellers. When he turned from the railway carriage Sheela Dempsey was rushing with her parcels into a waiting-room. He strode after her. He looked at the girl. How unlike Rose she was after all! Nobody nobody could ever be like Rose Dempsey! "Where is Rose?" he asked.
Such of the folk of the "Angel" hotel a night porter, a waiter, a chamber-maid as were up and about that grey morning, wondered why the two old gentlemen who had arrived from London the day before should rise from their beds to hold a secret and mysterious conference with the three young ones who, with a charming if tired-looking young lady, drove up before the city clocks had struck six.
She held tightly the handle of a huge marketing basket that seemed full to overflowing, while on the top a bunch of late chrysanthemums made a spot of gay colour. Opposite, a tired-looking mother sat with two fractious children, going home from the fair.
Tester repeated as far as he could remember the exact words. "Yes, you know; it was a bit hot, wasn't it? I expect you opened the blighter's eyes a bit. He wasn't used to that sort of literature." In spite of themselves Tester and Bradford laughed. They had been vaguely aware of a tired-looking figure in a Sam Browne as they left the canteen. He had looked "some ass."
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