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Updated: June 15, 2025
Breathing ninety-five percent oxygen produced the effect the terror-inspiring gas strove for, so his heart slowed nearly to normal and his body relaxed. He held out his hand and it did not tremble. He'd been affronted to see it shake uncontrollably when he pushed the microphone button for Maril. He turned to her. She hadn't spoken into the mike. "They may not be from Dara!" she said shakily.
She dreaded, yet she longed to say, for she had a story that she could eagerly tell to him. For a moment her heart lay still, and then leaped and fluttered uncontrollably. Slowly the shadowy fellow-passenger had found his feet. Steadily he looked, as though straight at her, for nearly a minute, then as slowly and deliberately turned his back and walked away forward.
Just as the stanch old chaplain was just such another God-fearing, God-serving, devil-downing man as Davies's father, so was the chaplain's wife a counterpart of Davies's mother, filled with the milk of human kindness still unturned, and overflowing with best intentions uncontrollably effervescent.
And the jealousy she had felt in the morning welled up uncontrollably. She looked from the Sheik to the man who was absorbing all his attention, but in his pale, clever face, half hidden by the close beard, she saw no trace of the conceited, smirking egotist she had imagined, and his voice, as low as the Sheik's, but more animated, was not the voice of a man unduly elated or conscious of himself.
Then suddenly again she struggled for balance, fell headlong. "Keep on walking, mother's heart's treasure," Peachy commanded. She dropped to her knees and held out her arms; her face worked uncontrollably. Angela pulled herself up with a determined settling of her little rose-petal mouth. Swaying, stumbling, staggering, she ran on in one final spurt until she collapsed in her mother's arms.
He began to tremble again uncontrollably. "She's n-not. Not any sort of a mother. My mother's dead." It was the first time he had ever said it, even to himself. It threw a chill over him, so that for a moment he stopped thinking of Edith and his coming black revenge. He had done something that could never be undone. He had closed and locked a great iron door in his mother's face.
That behind the grinning mask lay a wide knowledge of the working of the human mind, Carter saw, as the Gray Man's crafty eyes weighed the repugnance he knew he had inspired. As their glances met, uncontrollably, a challenge gleamed in that of the autoist which was answered by a cold defiance on the part of the elder man.
He appeared less ill at ease than morose. Katie herself, after having been so happy in his coming, was, now that he was there, uncontrollably depressed. They talked of a variety of things in the main, the things she had been reading but something had happened to that wonderful thing which had grown warm in their hearts as they walked those last two blocks.
Here for a visit?" "I'm a buyer," said the plump woman. "Yes; I thought so. I'm the lingerie and infants'-wear buyer for Schiff, Chicago." "A buyer!" The plump woman's eyes jumped uncontrollably again to Sophy Gold's scrambled features. "Well! My name's Miss Morrissey Ella Morrissey. Millinery for Abelman's, Pittsburgh.
"Oh, I'm sorry I'm sorry! . . . I I never thought of that when I asked you to be a pal to her." Her voice shook uncontrollably. He smiled again the game half-weary, half-tenderly amused smile which was so characteristic. "You needn't be sorry," he said, speaking with great gentleness. "I shall never be sorry that I love her. It's only that just now she doesn't need me.
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