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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Show," she replied, and taking the tress into her hand, she looked at it.
She had a way, when she was very much in earnest, or very much stirred with some passionate thought, of pacing the parlor with her hands clasped tightly before her, and her arms tense and straining at the clasping hands. With her head bent slightly forward, and her brown hair hanging in one long tress over her shoulder, she went swiftly up and down, while I lay back on the sofa and watched her.
Softly, in that low Cree voice which is the sweetest of all voices, she asked him many questions about Nada, and gently her slim fingers caressed the tress of Nada's hair which he let her take in her hands. And after a long time, she said. "I have given her a name. She is Oo-Mee, the Pigeon." Slim Buck started at the strange note in her voice. "The Pigeon," he repeated,
His eyes were open and bulging in a glassy stare. His jaws hung loose. His It was then Kent's blood froze in his veins. Kedsty had received a blow, but it was not the blow that had killed him. Afterward he had been choked to death. And the thing that had choked him was a TRESS OF WOMAN'S HAIR.
Passionately she had wept over the tress of faded hair which Tom Tubbs brought to her, saying: "He cut it from his head just before we left the prison, and told me if he never got home and I did, to give the lock to you, and say that all was well between him and God that your prayers had saved him. He wanted you to know that, because, he said, it would comfort you most of all."
I presume the fellow knew from long experience when his master meant what he said, and when he didn't. Without an attempt at remonstrance he replaced the pipe. He continued stolidly to puff away. Tress caught me by the arm. "What did I tell you? There there! That tentacle is moving." The uplifted tentacle was moving.
When I went upstairs that evening, I found my wife putting her hair to bed I don't know how I can better describe an operation familiar to every married man. I waited until the last tress was coiled up, and then I spoke: "I've talked with Brede," I said, "and I didn't have to catechize him. He seemed to feel that some sort of explanation was looked for, and he was very outspoken.
Then she threw herself back on the poncho, feigning sleep, her arms above her head, her hair scattered everywhere, only a tress or two half shading her flushed face and round, heaving bosom that would not be quiet. There was just a little mocking smile on her lips, just a little gleam of laughing eyes under her drooping lashes, for she could not help watching my face for admiration.
From her left temple a large tress, plaited with gold thread, hung down to her waist, the sign of her royal birth. She wore a purple dress of fine, almost transparent stuff, that was confined with a gold belt and straps. Round her throat was fastened a necklace like a collar, made of pearls and costly stones, and hanging low down on her well-formed bosom.
Sergeant Bertrand was the only one who was in love with the dead." Filled with astonishment, horror and pity, I stammered out: "But that tress did it really exist?" The doctor rose, opened a cabinet full of phials and instruments and tossed over a long tress of fair hair which flew toward me like a golden bird. I shivered at feeling its soft, light touch on my hands.
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