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Updated: June 20, 2025
"What is to be done?" exclaimed Lawrence, with intense anxiety. "He must be got at immediately. Delay of treatment in his case, even for a short time, may prove fatal." "I know it, Monsieur," said Antoine, who had been quietly but quickly uncoiling his rope. "One of the porters and I will descend by the precipices. They are too steep for any but well-accustomed hands and feet.
The key glided, well-accustomed, into its place, not rattling, but with the slide of long-polished and intimate steel soft, like silk on silk. But the key never turned. The door opened, seemingly of itself, and, gloriously loving, a candle held high in her hand, her full, white house-gown sweeping to her feet, the little wife stood waiting.
They were not in the fighting; nobody fired at them, and nobody spoke to them; but every dog left his master, left the sheep, and went away to the homestead, about six miles off. There wasn't a dog about the shed next day after the fight. The noise of the rifles had not frightened them, because they were well-accustomed to that.*
Take again the common rhetoric that has fixed itself in conversation in all Latin languages rhetoric that has ceased to have allusions, either majestic or comic. To the ear somewhat unused to French this proffers a frequent comedy that the well-accustomed ear, even of an Englishman, no longer detects.
Cecil Mayford saw, with his well-accustomed eye, that matters were getting perilous, and placed himself at the rails, holding one ready to slip if the beasts should break. In a moment, how or why none could tell, they made a sudden rush: Jim was borne back, dealing blows about him like a Paladin, and Sam was down, rolled over and over in the dust, just at Alice's feet.
Put Andrea on watch, and go to sleep. Our first danger is over." Pablo bowed and turned away without another word, and Zuroaga resumed his conference with Tassara, for those two were brave men, and were well-accustomed to the peril-haunted lives they were leading. "Colonel," he said, "it is evident that my young friend Carfora must go with you.
Effie bent low in the saddle which she rode astride. Her well-accustomed pony twisted and turned, threading its way almost miraculously through the labyrinth of bald tree-trunks. These pot-hunts, which were of such frequent occurrence, were the recreation which alone made life tolerable to its mistress. The woman saw only her quarry. For the rest she left the road to her pony.
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