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Updated: June 15, 2025
But here and there some few got acquainted and overlooked the discomforts of the elements. There was five engagements to be married announced at the flats the next morning. "About midnight I gets up and wrings the dew out of my hair, and goes to the side of the driveway and sits down.
Constable has failed, and I am ruined de fond en comble. It's a hard blow, but I must just bear up; the only thing which wrings me is poor Charlotte and the bairns."" Crook. The chain and hook hanging from the crook-tree over the fire in Scottish cottages. John Gibson, Junr., W.S., Mr. James Jollie, W.S., and Mr.
For the same reason, perhaps, I have no distinct remembrance of the period following the birth of Clementine; I only know that a few months afterwards I had a misfortune, the mere thought of which still wrings my heart. I lost my mother. A great silence, a great coldness, and a great darkness seemed all at once to fill the house. "I fell into a sort of torpor.
"Why do you call her poor, when she can be near you, always behold yon, always hear you?" "I call her poor, because she is unhappy. For she loves, Henry she loves to desperation, to madness, and she is not loved. She is pining away with grief and pain, and wrings her hands in boundless woe. Have you not noticed how pale she is, and how her eyes become daily more dim?"
It may be a legend of buried treasure, watched over by a weeping figure, that wrings its hands; folk may tell of the apparition of an ancient dame, whose corpse-like features yet show traces of passions unspent; of solemn, hooded monk, with face concealed by his cowl, who passes down the castle's winding stair, telling his beads; they whisper, it may be, of a lady in white raiment, whose silken gown rustles as she walks.
'Tis on thy world-wide chivalry I base my word of blame, 'Tis that I love thee most of all, Thy coldness brings me shame. Oh, dismal is the exile, That wrings my heart with woes, And locks my lips in silence Among unfeeling foes.
M. de Remusat, who was with the Empress, wrote the next day to his wife: "The Queen has but one thought, the loss she has suffered; she speaks of only one thing, of him. Not a tear, but a cold calm, an almost absolute silence about everything, and when she speaks she wrings every one's heart.
"Esther," said Jane one evening, "Aunt Amy is odder and odder and you don't seem to care a bit." Esther, who was preparing to go to a garden party, turned back, a little startled. "What do you mean, Jane?" "I don't know. Can't you see that she isn't happy?" "But she is better. She never complains. She almost never fancies things now." "She goes into corners and stares and she wrings her hands."
In his encounters with the sun he is like a prize-fighter coming up to time. Every round finds him weaker and weaker, still his pluck is first-rate, and he goes at it again. It is not until three, P.M., that he wrings out his dripping pocket-handkerchief, slouches his hat over his brows, and gives in as dead-beat.
And there are some, even in the ranks of this Militia who will fight for the Union. These are sad indeed. There is another wait, the companies standing at ease. Some of the dragoons dismount, but not the handsome young captain, who rides straight to the bright group which has caught his eye, Colonel Carvel wrings his gauntleted hand. "Clarence, we are proud of you, sir," he says.
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