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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Dreaming, Kitty?" said a voice, and looking up with the frown still wrinkling her pretty brows, she saw Lord St. John approaching. "If I am, it must be a nightmare, I think!" she answered lugubriously. The old man's kindly face took on a look of concern. "Any nightmare that I can dispel, my dear?" Kitty patted the fine-bred, wrinkled old hand that rested on the edge of the hammock.
Scraggy had drawn closer and closer to Lem, her sad face wrinkling into deeper lines. With each uttered word Lem had seen that he had conquered her. Suddenly he dropped his heavy left hand down on the gray head and kept it there. For the first time in many weary years Scraggy Peterson was kneeling before her man. Now he wanted her!
Carpendike listened with a bent head, upraised eyes, and brows wrinkling far on to his poll: a picture of a mind entrenched beyond the potentialities of mortal assault. He signified that he had spoken.
"I'll be very glad to explain it some day," he said; but there was no mirth in his voice or eyes, only the snickering lip wrinkling the pallor. "Will you not answer now?" she asked. "No, not now. But I desire you to understand it some day some day before November. And one or two other matters that it is necessary for you to understand.
"I suppose not, uncle," replied the lad, with a sigh. "I am very stupid." "No, you are not, sir, only about as ignorant as most people are about glasses. I have explained the matter to you, but you have not taken it in." "I suppose not, uncle," said Tom, wrinkling his brow. "Then understand it now, once for all. It is very simple if you will try and grasp it.
"Oh, nothin' much," he replied, wrinkling his nose comically, "only Broadway an' the Bowery are too far away from this town to ever amount to anythin'. Say, how would you fellers like a chair in front of the grate in the little old Black Bear Patrol clubroom, in the village of N. Y.? What?"
"Seems as if," she said, wrinkling her forehead, "I used to make pink tarleton stockings for your trees and fill 'em with the corn. I donno but I've got a little piece of pink tarleton somewheres in my bottom drawer...." ... Next night they had the bracket lamp and the lamp on the shelf and the table hand lamp all burning. The little tree was gay with the white corn and the coloured trifles.
The claws clenched into balled fists, the lips drew back, showing blackened and decayed teeth. Bristling like an aroused beast, his forehead wrinkling, his nostrils twitching, he made an inarticulate, growling, brute-like noise in his throat. His head twisted sideways. Of a sudden the sweat burst out upon his face, and he began to back away, warily.
Judith as she kissed him was wrinkling her smooth brows at him. "But I thought you were going to bring Tom Hughes " she began, hesitatingly. David burst into a laugh. "Blest if I didn't forget all about Tommy," he cried, turning to search the platform with eager eyes. "He's here somewhere, but he's a shy youth and I guess he was afraid you'd want to kiss him, too, Judy. Oh, there he is.
I mean" she pushed up the braid a little from wrinkling brows "jest blue is awful pretty an' jest green. They're sort of cool, an' yeller, that's sure fine. You'd like to take it in your hands. Red is most too much like feelin' things. I dunno, it most hurts an' yet it warms you up, too. If I hed to live here " Prosper's eyebrows lifted a trifle.
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