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The evening sun seemed to shine more yellowly there than anywhere else this autumn stretching its rays, as the hours grew later, under the lowest sycamore boughs, and steeping the ground-floor of the dwelling, with its green shutters, in a substratum of radiance which the foliage screened from the upper parts.
"I give it." "I, also," said Smith, hoarsely. Ten minutes later, Nayland Smith and I, standing beside the cab, whose lights gleamed yellowly through the mist, exchanged a struggling, frightened bird for our lives capitulated with the enemy of the white race. With characteristic audacity and characteristic trust in the British sense of honor Dr.
"I give it." "I, also," said Smith hoarsely. Ten minutes later, Nayland Smith and I, standing beside the cab, whose lights gleamed yellowly through the mist, exchanged a struggling, frightened bird for our lives capitulated with the enemy of the white race. With characteristic audacity and characteristic trust in the British sense of honour Dr.
Realizing this, I spoke to it gratefully. "You are a heaven-born gift on a night like this," said I, rising up and walking to its side. "I am glad to be of service to you," the Awful Thing replied, smiling at me so yellowly that I almost wished the author of the Blue-Button of Cowardice could have seen it. "It's very good of you," I put in.
Outside the hotel she could just distinguish the blurred shape of the car, the lamps flaring yellowly in the mist; but the shops and houses opposite were blotted out by the curtain of fog; and she knew she risked running into the man from whom she longed, desperately, to escape. Where she would go did not matter now.
A parasol she carried, of white silk, and its fringe was lace, yellowly genuine. I will grant Gallipolis as to her costume, but firmly to Seville or Valladolid I am held by her eyes; castanets, balconies, mantillas, serenades, ambuscades, escapades all these their dark depths guaranteed. "Ain't you afraid to go out alone, Alviry?" queried the Queen-mother anxiously.
Say, I'd see a lady as far as the devil on that. Good night!" At Mrs. Bostum's boarding-house, one of a row of the stare-faced packing-cases of the summer city, bathing-suits drying and kicking over veranda rails, a late quiet had fallen, only one window showing yellowly in the peak of its top story.
Her spotless shirt-waist gladdened the eye in that desert of sunshine, a swelling oasis, cool and fresh. A man's split-straw hat sat firmly on her coiled, abundant hair. Beneath her serene, round, impudent chin a man's four-in-hand tie was jauntily knotted about a man's high, stiff collar. A parasol she carried, of white silk, and its fringe was lace, yellowly genuine.
She had been studying her lessons, but it had grown too dark to see the book, so she had fallen into wide-eyed reverie, looking out past the boughs of the Snow Queen, once more bestarred with its tufts of blossom. In all essential respects the little gable chamber was unchanged. The walls were as white, the pincushion as hard, the chairs as stiffly and yellowly upright as ever.
Dead in the center, brighter than all the rest, Ertado's Star, the sun of Tanith, burned yellowly. The light from it was ten hours old. "Pretty good, Guatt," Harkaman said, picking up his cup. "Good, Gehenna; it was perfect," somebody else said. Kirbey was relighting his pipe. "Oh, I suppose it'll have to do," he grudged, around the stem.