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Updated: May 3, 2025
She had picked up the letters, every one, and stood reading them with parted lips and staring eyes. It was Mathilde who saved him from a violent illness, closing the box and leading him downstairs, and whispered something incomprehensible in his ear as she pointed him homeward. "Le vrai medecin c'est toi, mon mignon."
He kissed his beautiful, and she ran off to join the procession following the two babies, alarmed nurses, distracted mammas, shrieking infants, anxious damsels. "C'est un vrai tourbillon," as Gustave remarked to his companion Valentine Hawkehurst; "these women, how they love their children! What of saints, what of Madonnas, what of angels!"
Edith said: 'The dreadful thing I've to tell you, Landi, is that I've completely changed. 'Comment? 'Yes. I'm in love with him all over again. 'C'est vrai? 'Yes. I don't know how and I don't know why. When he first made that suggestion, it seemed wild impossible. But the things he said how absolutely true it is. Landi, my life's been wasted, utterly wasted. Landi said nothing.
If this is true, I wish that for my sake they would stress their syllables a little more heavily. By their omission of this kindness I am so often baffled as to their meaning. To be shamed as a talker is bad enough; it is even worse to be shamed in the humble refuge of listener. To listen and from time to time murmur 'C'est vrai' may seem safe enough; yet there is danger even here.
All respect to governesses, but is it not time that philosophy should renounce governess-faith? O Voltaire! O humanity! O idiocy! There is something ticklish in "the truth," and in the SEARCH for the truth; and if man goes about it too humanely "il ne cherche le vrai que pour faire le bien" I wager he finds nothing!
Fouchet's seizure, his illness, his convalescence, and present physical condition a condition which appeared to be bristling with the tragedy of danger, "un vrai drame d'anxiete" was graphically conveyed to us.
There was a note of warning in his voice the cause of which Esther perceived when a moment later the couple were joined by a plump Frenchwoman with hennaed hair and a burnt-orange make-up. "Comment ça va, Thérèse? Ah, Captain, on me dit que vous avez l'intention de nous quitter. C'est vrai?" What ensued was lost in a cackle of French interspersed with high-pitched laughter.
C'est vrai, my friend, that I risk not a little in your behalf. Go now, quickly ... No! No!" she protested, as she drew away from him. "I tell you, C'est folie, madness and folly. You do not know me. Go now, while there is time!" "But you will see me again?" insisted Dan. "Promise me that; or, on my honour, I refuse to leave. Do with me what you will, but " "Listen!" she whispered hurriedly.
You vill sure have grand plaisir to see un fandango Mexicain?" "Not I, Gode. My countrymen are not so fond of dancing as yours." "C'est vrai, monsieur; but von fandango is tres curieux. You sall see ver many sort of de pas. Bolero, et valse, wis de Coona, and ver many more pas, all mix up in von puchero.
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