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Updated: June 24, 2025
Yet so stung am I with what I have heard that I move away in silence: save that just as I reach the top of the steps I turn to cry: "Goodbye, mate, and give her my greeting." "What are you bawling for?" blusters the warder.... The corridor is dim, and filled with an oppressive odour. The warder swings his keys with a dry, thin clash, and I, to dull the pain in my heart, strive to imitate him.
Immediately below the Virgin, on the right, is the figure of St. Thomas, with hands outstretched, receiving the mystic girdle: below is the entombment; Mary lies extended on a pall above a sarcophagus. In the centre stands Christ, holding in his arms the emancipated soul; he is attended by eight angels. St. John is at the head of the Virgin, and near him an angel swings a censer; St.
Stark and bare, stripped of all accidentals, the universe swings on its way. The stillest hour! But how much stiller than still, when the earth has drawn over its shoulders that morning mist that allows of no slightest breath when under the haze the very air seems to lie curled and to have gone to sleep. And yet how portentous! The haze seems to brood.
If the beasts sprang high the boy met them with long-arm swings of his rifle; if they fell short the axe or the knife flashed and the wolves limped away with savage howls, their blood dyeing the frozen surface of the creek.
CAPT. G. Oh you will, will you? Get round, you brute-you hog-you beast! Get round! Wrenches horse's head over, nearly breaking lower jaw; swings himself into saddle, and sends home both spurs in the midst of a spattering gale of Best Patna. CAPT. M. For your life and your love ride, Gaddy! And God bless you!
The sunny motes, that in a glancing column came through the lattice, called Warner from the real day, the day of strife and blood, with thousands hard by driving each other to the Hades, and led his scheming fancy into the ideal and abstract day, the theory of light itself; and the theory suggested mechanism, and mechanism called up the memory of his oracle, old Roger Bacon; and that memory revived the great friar's hints in the Opus magnus, hints which outlined the grand invention of the telescope; and so, as over some dismal precipice a bird swings itself to and fro upon the airy bough, the schoolman's mind played with its quivering fancy, and folded its calm wings above the verge of terror.
The evening before their first and only night together, Darlés had just happened to find her in one of those fits of the blues, of eclectic relaxation, in which the volatile feminine sense of ethics swings equidistant from good and evil. Her virtues and her vices, alike, were arbitrary and without any exact motive.
Many experience similar effects in carriages, and in swings, or on looking from a lofty precipice, where known objects being distant, and viewed under a new aspect, are not so readily recognised: also in walking on a wall or roof, in looking directly up to a roof, or to the stars in the zenith, because, then, all standards disappear: on walking into a round room, where there are no perpendicular lines of light and shade, as when the walls and roof are covered with a spotted paper without regular arrangement of spot: on turning round, as in waltzing, or on a wheel; because the eye is not then allowed to rest on the standards, &c.
Sometimes a new-wed bride or a new-born baby goes with them into their mountains; the door swings to behind, and the new-born or the new-wed moves henceforth in the bloodless land of Faery; happy enough, but doomed to melt out at the last judgment like bright vapour, for the soul cannot live without sorrow.
He's all hunched up and caved in and he's rubbing his eyes like he's jest woke up recent, and he's got a grin onto his face that makes him look like his sister Estelle looks all the time. "Excuse me," says the perfessor. They both swings around and faces him. I can hear my heart bumping. Jane never says a word. The man with the brown beard never says a word.
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