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Updated: May 31, 2025
Our chauffeur, being accustomed to famished pilgrims, conducted us at once to a garden café quite near the château, from whence we could study its long façade while enjoying our tea and pâtisserie. And what a huge monument is this château of Chambord to the effete monarchy of France, built up from the life-blood and toil of thousands!
Or are they not words at all, but chalices and Holy graals, of human passion, full of the life-blood, staining the lips that approach them scarlet, of heart-drained pulse-wearied ravishment? Certainly he has the touch, ineffable, final, absolute, of the supreme Beauty.
And the hand, drooping over the side of the couch, though too thinly white to suggest a love-pressure, indicated, in the taper of the fingers, and the fine round of the back, without any coarse protruding knuckles, what a handsome little Napoleonic hand it must have been when the owner was in full health and the life-blood coursing freely through his veins.
"That you will come back to England with me at once." "I cannot; I dare not. He has promised to take my life-blood if I do." "No harm shall happen to you, I promise." "You will not allow him to touch me?" "He shall not." "Then I will go." My point was gained. The man had promised to accompany me willingly, while I had expected a difficult matter in getting him to England.
The history of woman's wrongs has for ages been written in tears, often with her life-blood; and yet the volume has, in most instances, been concealed in her own bosom, notwithstanding its fearful weight. But if, at any time, as sometimes happens, unable to keep it hidden longer, she unfolds the pages of her grief to others, what an outcry is raised against her!
"Yes, hear him," cried the tall man, waving his arms about like the sails of a windmill. "Yes, hear him. Sons of darkness, you're all vampyres, and are continually sucking the life-blood from each other. No wonder that the evil one has power over you all.
So swift his sword, so mighty and agile his half-earthly muscles, that one of his opponents was down, crimsoning the ochre moss with his life-blood, when he had scarce made a single pass at Carthoris. Now the two remaining Dusarians rushed simultaneously upon the Heliumite.
The dying man lying on the low couch, rocking his head to and fro; the wizard bending over him like some grey vampire bat sucking the life-blood from his helpless throat. The terror in the eyes of the one, the insatiable hate in the eyes of the other. Oh! it was awful! "Macumazahn," gasped Cetewayo in a rattling whisper, "help me, Macumazahn. I say that I am poisoned by this Zikali, who hates me.
As though it was the Monster's shining life-blood it poured, raising ever higher in its swift flooding the level radiant lake. Lower and lower sank the immense bulk; squattered and spread, ever lowering about its helpless, patient crouching something ineffably piteous, something indescribably, COSMICALLY tragic.
We remember how the stiff-necked Ingres, the greatest Raphaelesque of this century, hurled at Delacroix's head the famous dictum, "Le dessin c'est la probité de l'art," and how his illustrious rival, the chief of a romanticism which he would hardly acknowledge, vindicated by works rather than by words his contention that, if design was indeed art's conscience, colour was its life-blood, its very being.
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