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Updated: September 6, 2024
London was unusually quiet after the roar and turmoil of the day. The great city lay like a tired ocean. And like an ocean it seemed to sleep, full of its living as well as its dead. In a little square which stands on the fringe of the slums of Westminster, and has a well-worn church in the middle, and tenement houses, institutions, and workshops around its sides, a strange crowd had gathered.
Sitting here in my pleasaunce on the lawn, surrounded by a riot of hollyhocks, foxgloves, roses, geraniums, and other English flowers that she described so vividly, and loved so well, I find myself celebrating in my own way the hundredth anniversary of the birth of George Eliot. Lying open beside me on the garden-seat is a very well-worn copy of Janet's Repentance.
A few subdued noises trickled in through the open door from the other departments a dull tinkling crash from the treasurer's office adjoining, as a clerk tossed a bag of silver to the floor of the vault the vague, intermittent clatter of a dilatory typewriter a dull tapping from the state geologist's quarters as if some woodpecker had flown in to bore for his prey in the cool of the massive building and then a faint rustle and the light shuffling of the well-worn shoes along the hall, the sounds ceasing at the door toward which the commissioner's lethargic back was presented.
She had on the old, old frock in which, before her visit to Lady Linlithgow, she used to pass the morning amidst her labours with the girls, a pale, grey, well-worn frock, to which must have been imparted some attraction from the milliner's art, because everybody liked it so well, but which she had put on this very morning as a testimony, to all the world around her, that she had abandoned the idea of being anything except a governess.
I fancied that I saw a wavy wriggle of impatience in her shawl. Perhaps she wanted to know the rest of that odd incident near Eza. It may have been that it was impatient interest which had impaired her rigidity the day before. I went on with the odd incident, and made a very good thing of it. Even when on well-worn routes of travel, I tried to confine myself to out-of-the-way experiences.
The picture, in the sixth Eclogue, of the fawn lying among the white lilies, will recall to English readers one of the prettiest fancies of Marvell; that in the second, of Flora scattering her tresses over the spring meadow, and Pomona playing under the orchard boughs, is at least a vivid pictorial presentment of a sufficiently well-worn theme.
"I don't see why I can't be in luck too," said Dick. "I wish I could find some rich lady to give me a room in her house." "You'll have to get some new clothes first, Dick." "I know I aint got a genteel look," said Dick, surveying his well-worn clothes, soiled and ragged; "but it wouldn't be no use if I was to dress in velvet." "Unless you kept your face clean," suggested Frank.
This second coalition aimed at Clay and the East resembled very strikingly that of 1828. And new issues had been injected into the national discussion. A rapid extension of the national domain to the Rio Grande, to the Pacific, and to 54° 40' of north latitude in the Far Northwest was opposed to Clay's well-worn program of a protective tariff, national bank, and internal improvements.
There were two or three well-worn steps to the entrance. The door was divided half-way up: the upper portion stood open during business hours, and the lower was fastened by a common thumb latch. To the ledge of the door inside, a bell was attached by a strip of iron hooping, which vibrated when the door was opened, and set the bell ringing to attract attention.
So there he sat, among these armed bandits. They were dressed in sheepskins and warm materials, had sheepskin caps on their heads; there was he with his bare arms, in well-worn grey trousers, his shirt fastened together at the neck with a piece of wood.
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