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Updated: May 2, 2025
Before he had finished speaking he had caught up his awl and begun to work vigorously, boring his holes as if the nerves of feeling were continued to the point of the tool, inserting the bristles that served him for needles with a delicacy worthy of soft-skinned fingers, drawing through the rosined threads with a whisk, and untwining them with a crack from the leather that guarded his hands.
In truth, it was surprising to see how many disagreeable sentiments they all three contrived to express, without untwining their arms, or loosening their fond and graceful hold on each other. A slight elevation of the eyebrow, a curve of the lovely mouth, or a shrug from the Parian shoulders, how expressive, how surprising!
I haven't been here for several years, but it used to be great fun, and I suppose we can do it now," suggested Miss Ellery with the laugh. "By Jove, we will! And look up Christie; ask her when she comes round," said Mr. Fred, the youthful dude, untwining his languid legs as if the prospect put a little life into him.
Or would you like to know what any ordinary man of the world would think of the whole case?" "Don't give me your advice, Ogilvie," said he, untwining and throwing away the bit of casting-line that had cut his finger. "It is far beyond that. Let me talk to you that is all. I should have gone mad in another week, if I had had no one to speak to; and as it is, what better am I than mad?
It breaks mother's heart, you know, to see you straining yourself like this." Philip nodded a crimson spot in each cheek, his frail hands twining and untwining as he tried to compose himself. Elizabeth went half-way down the stairs and called. Anderson hurried out of the drawing-room, and saw her bending to him from the shadows, very white and calm.
With much difficulty and many assurances that the gentleman was not going to hurt him, Miss Bailey succeeded in untwining Morris's legs from the supports of the desk and in half carrying, half leading him up to the chair of state. An ominous silence had settled over the room. Eva Gonorowsky was weeping softly, and the redoubtable Isidore Applebaum was stiffened in a frozen calm.
"Oh, my father!" said she, untwining herself from the colonel's embrace, though she still nestled up close to him, as she stared at me shyly, with a puzzled look on her mignonne face. "Why, who is this young sir, my father? I seem to know him, and yet I do not remember having ever seen him before!"
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