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The old vagabond was settled again in his armchair, with his dog in his lap, his pipe in his mouth, and his French novel in his hand; exhibiting exactly the picture of frowzy comfort which he had presented when his visitors first entered the room. "Good-day," said Mr. Troy, with haughty condescension. "Don't interrupt me!" rejoined Old Sharon, absorbed in his novel.
She was also heard to say Winona heard it that he was an awfully stunning chap. Harvey D. Whipple was now a member of the party, beaming proudly upon his son. And Sharon Whipple came presently to survey the group. He winked at Wilbur, who winked in return. After refreshments the young gentlemen withdrew to smoke.
A reef of raspberries, red as corals, gathered on the tangled slopes of Cote a Bonhomme, formed the dessert, with blue whortleberries from Cape Tourment, plums sweet as honey drops, and small, gray-coated apples from Beaupre, delicious as those that comforted the Rose of Sharon. A few carafes of choice wine from the old manorial cellar, completed the entertainment.
It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing: the glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the splendor of Carmel and Sharon, they shall see the glory of the Lord, and the splendor of our God." These passages stand in need of no commentary. They are shining and manifest as the sun, and glowing and luminous as light itself.
"I had a great worry at Sharon, Miss Euphrasia, and it has grown worse since. I can't help being afraid mother has been dreadfully cheated. We got acquainted with some people there; a Mr. and Mrs. Farron Saftleigh, rich Westerners, who made a good deal of show of everything; money, and talk, and conjugal devotion, and friendship. Mrs.
A few minutes later he stood beside Rose's worn desk. "How-do-you-do, once more, Miss Rose of Sharon. You're not the Bible's Rose of Sharon, are you?" he joshed a bit awkwardly. "If I were a rose of anywhere, I'd soon wilt in this stuffy little office of inky smells," she answered pleasantly. "A rose would need petals of leather to get by here."
It would be unfair to expect a true nose in any but born Whipples. Gideon Whipple from before the fireplace swayed forward on his toes and waved his half-smoked cigar. "The long and short of it is the Whipple stock has run low. We're dying out." "Got to have new blood, that's sure," said Sharon. "Build it up again."
"Papa, it is the plain of Sharon!" "You speak as if it were a place where you had played, when you were a child." "Papa, in some measure it is like that; so often I have read about the old things that were done here." Papa smiled at me? and asked what? But I could not tell him while we were going at a canter. "It would be pretty in spring," he said. "Where are we to stop to-night, Daisy?
He says the plain people will never allow this war to go on, because they've been tricked into it by Wall Street or something. I read it in his magazine. They're working against the war night and day, he says. Well, all I mean, I'd hate to go over there and be seasick and everything and then find they had stopped it." Intently, grimly, Sharon climbed from his car.
The pilgrim we spoke of above pursued his journey in a south-eastern direction, and now on the first day he saw the lovely Plain of Sharon spread out before him like a carpet or rather a sea of flowers crocuses, narcissi, ranunculi, anemones, and especially the tall white Sharon lilies. It was the Promised Land indeed!
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