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They came to the statue of Saint Peter, and Caesar told them it is the custom for strangers to kiss its foot. The Canon piously did so, but Don Calixto, who was somewhat uneasy, rubbed the statue's worn foot surreptitiously with his handkerchief and then kissed it. Caesar abstained from kissing it, because he said the kiss was efficacious principally for strangers.
The smile of peace and pardon on the statue's illumined face seemed to make all sin forgivable in this haunt of holy dreams. "God forgive me, and show me how to atone," I sent my plea skyward. Suddenly the conviction came that I should be shown a way of atonement, though it might be hard.
If there was no General there can't be a statue to him." "There is," said Dr. O'Grady. "There's no use flying in the face of facts. The statue's under that sheet." "It's not. I mean to say that there may be a statue there, but it's not to General John Regan. How can there be a statue to him when there was no such person?" "Was there ever such a person as Venus?" said Dr. O'Grady. "There wasn't.
He had the English taste for red and white, and for cold outlines: he secretly admired a statuesque demeanour with a statue's eyes.
It stands on a kind of rostrum or pedestal, and you can see it's been there ten million years. "'He's a cousin of mine, sings High, and then he turns solemn. "'Hunky, he says, putting one hand on my shoulder and one on the statue's, 'I'm in the holy temple of my ancestors. "'Well, if looks goes for anything, says I, 'you've struck a twin.
Her clinging robe shone like an opal in the lamplight, her body, only partly veiled, was enticing, and her visage was very lovely. Her wide-open eyes implored you, but only as those of a trapped animal beseech the mercy for which it does not really hope. Thus Melicent waited in the clear lamplight, with no more wavering in her face than you may find in the next statue's face.
At the statue's base he came upon a little cluster of students about the body of the murdered lad, all stricken with fear and helplessness. "You here, Moreau!" said a voice. He looked round to find himself confronted by a slight, swarthy man of little more than thirty, firm of mouth and impertinent of nose, who considered him with disapproval.
But there was no Gretna on the Pembina trail in those days and the Little Statue's cheeks were suddenly tinged deep red, while I completely lost my tongue. "Not a word for y'rself?" continued the priest, giving me full benefit of the mischievous spirit working in him.
He said at a little distance her eyes looked white, like a statue's." "Ah that was good! They are like that. Curious eyes. Curious woman. Why didn't you tell me before about her visit to the curé?" "I meant to. But you put off coming so long. And I well, I confess I forgot." "You're excusable in the circumstances, my dear boy. After all, it's of no importance." "No.
"Wasp or bee, sir which?" The customs-officer laughed, and Mark coloured up, but Mr Gregory stood with his red nose shining and his pimply face as hard and cold as a statue's. "Which? Why, you come aboard to idle or work?" "I don't know, sir. Can I do anything?" "How should I know? I should say not, by the look of you. Will you try?" "Yes, sir. I should be glad to," cried Mark.
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