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Updated: May 13, 2025
Why do you call your fiancee Miss Jacobi?" Cedric stared at him. "I suppose because it is her name," he replied rather impatiently. "What a fellow you are, Herrick! I think your wits must be wool-gathering." "Oh dear, nothing of the kind; I am not mad, most noble Felix, but in my sane, sober senses.
He had stuck to Henry's side like a dog, but with no more interest in the inquiry than a calf, indeed, his wandering eye and vacant face had indicated that his scanty wits were wool-gathering miles from the place that contained his body. But, as soon as he entered the saw-grinders' room, his features lighted up, and his eye kindled.
There were expressions of sorrow, but no hush of calamity. Jests were made at lunch, and all ate as heartily as usual. "Well, he lasted ten days," said the Brigadier, "which is more than a good many have done." Personally, I found myself repeating, in my wool-gathering way, the word "Two."
The one who dictated the one with the large head-dress drew up her head, wool-gathering. Oh, she was old, very old, notwithstanding her look from behind, in her small brown shawl we mean downright old. A sweet old granny, seventy at least. Very pretty, though, and still fresh-coloured, with the rosy cheeks some old people have.
And while the feeble and "wool-gathering" Seth Bede becomes a convert, the strong-minded Adam holds out, even although he is so tolerant as to marry a female Methodist preacher, and to let her enjoy her "liberty of prophesying" until stopped by a general order of the Wesleyan Conference.
Life, death, Hellas, Hermione, all flashed before his eyes as he sat numbed, but Sicinnus saved them both. “The password to-night? You know it,” he demanded in quick whisper. “ ‘Hystaspes,’ ” muttered Glaucon, still wool-gathering. “Who are you?
"If I had only been a bridge-builder or an engine-driver," he thought; "anything except this beastly " But he was wool-gathering again. He pulled himself together and started at a rapid pace for the tower, where he found Feller sitting by the table, one leg over the other easily, engaged in the prosaic business of sewing a button on his blouse. Lanstron rapped; no answer.
When Philip answered, it was in a way that always irritated his uncle, with something that had nothing to do with the matter in hand. He called it a bad habit of wool-gathering. "Supposing you'd asked God to do something," said Philip, "and really believed it was going to happen, like moving a mountain, I mean, and you had faith, and it didn't happen, what would it mean?"
"No more wool-gathering, eh?" he said, giving Lanstron a pat on the shoulder. To Lanstron this pat meant another chance. "Good-by!" he called to the young girl, who was still watching him with big, sympathetic eyes. "I am coming back soon and land in the field, there, and when I do. I'll claim a bunch of flowers." "Do! What fun!" she cried, as the car started.
Between us with prose as the medium, of course, since verse should, after all, confine itself to the commemoration of heroes and royal persons I believe we might make of this occurrence a neat and moving pastorelle I should say, pastoral, of course, but my wits are wool-gathering." Mr. Gay had the kindest heart in the universe.
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