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As she was closing the door, Sally looked back and saw mother and son standing together. The likeness was remarkable. Both were tall, grey-faced, and slightly stooping. Gaga was weak-looking for a man, and Madam had more severity; but there were such lines upon her face that she looked like an old woman. A sudden realisation shook Sally.
She put one hand on Henry Gregg's sleeve. "You do not know! You do not! Promise me you will go." The tears sprang suddenly to her English blue eyes. "Promise me! Promise me!" "Henry!" cried Mamma Gregg, very grey-faced. "Promise, Henry!" "I promise," said Henry Gregg, and he turned away. Mary Gowd sank back in her seat and shut her eyes for a moment.
They conducted us to what they had termed "the calaboose," a big, ramshackle, one-roomed barn-like structure. Piled in so thick that we almost had to stand up, there were so many of us we were held there till next morning. But we were served, then, a good breakfast, at the town's expense. The owner of the restaurant was a queer little, grey-faced, stringy fellow.
Even though they knew nothing of her secret, yet the mere feeling that she stood among those who could have understood gave her strength and a feeling of safety even against herself which she could not have had among her own kind. But she was not long left with her feeling of security. A wan, grey-faced girl with burning eyes caught Ruth fiercely by the arm and drew her out of the crowd.
Drink because you are happy, but never because you are miserable. Never drink when you are wretched without it, or you will be like the grey-faced gin-drinker in the slum; but drink when you would be happy without it, and you will be like the laughing peasant of Italy. Never drink because you need it, for this is rational drinking, and the way to death and hell.
Upon Mary's face there was revealed a calm expression of perfect content, different indeed from the tearful countenance of a few hours before, while her husband, grey-faced and serious, just as he had been before his last illness, had her arm linked in his, and walked with her, whispering some low indistinct words which brought to her lips a smile of perfect felicity.
A mattress and some rude coverings were stretched beneath it the children's bed on which we persuaded the helpless, dreary wife to lie down and try to rest. A neighbour had taken in the children for the night. The wife was a skinny, grey-faced, lined woman of six-and-twenty. In her attitude of hopeless incompetence she shed around her an atmosphere of unspeakable depression.
There were some who would never walk, would never stand upright again, who had nothing before them but the grim life of a helpless cripple. There were others who could hardly hope to see the morrow's sun rise, and others again grey-faced with pain and with white-knuckled hands clenched to the stretcher-edges.
We will follow the Golden Knight while our breath endures. We can track him to Hauterive. He never stayed rein till he reached it, and there at the gates dropped his chestnut dead of a broken heart. In the hall of the citadel it was no Golden Knight but a grey-faced old woman who knelt before Galors in his chair. Her voice was dry as bare branches.
"You have no power or right to detain me," declared the grey-faced doctor in quick defiance. "You are not a police officer!" "No, but this is a police officer," Fetherston replied, indicating Summers, and adding: "Sergeant, I give that man into custody." The sergeant advanced and laid his big hand upon the doctor's shoulder, telling him to consider himself under arrest.
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