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Updated: May 27, 2025
'But why? she exclaimed. 'Why should you want putting in a pinafore? 'I don't, he laughed. On the top of the cliff they were between two bays, with darkening blue water on the left, and on the right gold water smoothing to the sun. Siegmund seemed to stand waist-deep in shadow, with his face bright and glowing. He was watching earnestly. 'I want to absorb it all, he said.
Then there was another shout, and when somebody dragged the pony clear of the boulder he held on by the bridle and went floundering waist-deep up stream. The water, however, now sank rapidly, and soon he was clear of it to the knee. Then there was a clatter of hoofs on slippery rock, and he lurched dripping and gasping into the partial shelter of the pines.
At times Lisle, wading waist-deep and dragged almost off his feet, barely held her stationary Nasmyth could see his chest heave and his face grow darkly flushed but in another instant they were going on again. That a craft could be propelled up any part of the rapid would, Nasmyth thought, have appeared absolutely incredible to any one who had not seen it done.
On the 6th, however, Wolfe struggled up, and during that day and the next superintended the march of his picked column, numbering some four thousand men, up the south bank of the river. Fording, near waist-deep, the Etchemain River, they were received beyond its mouth by the boats of the fleet, and, as each detachment arrived, conveyed on board.
"The French and Indians on the knoll yonder, my own men kneeling in the trenches, almost waist-deep in water, trying in vain to keep their powder dry; here and there a wounded man lying in the mud and cursing, the rain and mist over it all, and the night coming on. And then, suddenly, the rush of Indians at our back, and over the breastwork.
One o'clock came, and two o'clock, and the pirates were clustering on the highest shoal, waist-deep in water. "Now this illustrates the value of imagination," Charley was saying. "Taft has been trying for years to get them, but he went at it with bull strength and failed. Now we used our heads . . ."
The man and the woman were enemies to the other, and as their magic was stronger than his, he had turned himself into a raccoon to escape them. The hunter did not know this. He went toward them, and as he drew near, he saw that the dancers had worn a ditch waist-deep about the tree. He went up to them and asked them why they did this strange thing.
At the water's edge four children were playing. Honey-Boy had waded out waist-deep. A sturdy, dark, strong-bodied, tiny replica of his father, he stood in an exact reproduction of one of Honey's poses, his arms folded over his little pouter-pigeon chest, lips pursed, brows frowning, dimples inhibited, gazing into the water. Just beyond, one foot on the bottom, Peterkin pretended to swim.
Tom snatched up the rail and reached for the bottom, poling her off towards midstream whenever he could get the rail down. Gradually the boat drifted into the current, and started north. It had sunk far down in the water, and the waves slopped over the sides. "If you'll last to the next turn!" exclaimed Tom prayerfully. He was sitting waist-deep in water, and his teeth were chattering.
He was waist-deep in that broth of mud when his feet found the rifle and he stooped down into it and groped around among roots that felt like living, squirming reptiles before he recovered the weapon. When he had scraped the most of the mud off of himself and out of the rifle it was too dark to follow the trail and Dick walked to a near-by thicket where he hoped to find better ground for a camp.
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