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“And to you also, Frances. But not only that. He is the man of whom, I suppose, Constance has told you—to avoid whom she left home, and ran away from me. Oh, the words come quite appropriate, though I could not bear them from the mouth of Caroline Clarendon. She abandoned me, and threw herself upon your father’s protection, because of——”
After the race Maria was taken by Uncle Berry to Waynesboro, Ga., where she bantered the world, but could not get a race. There were very few jockey clubs in the country at that time.
"You've always said we ought to express ourselves," he grumbled, "and here I'm going contrary to my inclinations all the time. I haven't forgotten your yarns on that subject at the hospital eight years ago."
“‘Look at the wonder of the century! Here is a real wounded cavalryman. Sonny, how in the world did you ever get that close to a bullet?’ and so on. I got off of that horse as soon as I could and never tried to play cavalry again during the war.”
George Coventry was the kind of man who could contemplate matrimony only under conditions of supreme possession, mental as well as physical. What his wife learnt of life he must be the one to teach her; there must be no knowledge, no memory in her heart of which he might have reason to feel jealous in the most remote degree. There was something of the Sultan in his nature.
“He sho’ did, Bud. I wouldn’t lie about the old man, now that he’s dead. It ain’t right to lie about dead people—even to make ’em say nice an’ proper things they never thought of whilst alive. If we’d stop lyin’ about the ungodly dead an’ tell the truth about ’em, maybe the livin’ ’u’d stop tryin’ to foller after ’em in that respect. As it is, every one of ’em knows that no matter how wicked he lives there’ll be a lot o’ nice lies told over him after he’s gone, an’ a monument erected, maybe, to tell how good he was. An’ there’s another lot of half pious folks in the wurl it ’u’d help—kind o’ sissy pious folks—that jus’ do manage to miss all the fun in this world an’ jus’ are mean enough to ketch hell in the nex’. Get religion, but don’t get the sissy kind. So I am for tellin’ it about old man Galloway jus’ as he was.
"What means she?" asked Marian of Macfarren. "Steamer—screw—what are they? I never saw them in Suffolk, or Norfolk either."
Sherevsky vs. Serek
companion, calm as if nothing out of the common run had occurred, stepped in and began coolly arranging a stray lock of her hair before the mirrors with which the elevator was lined. The boy waited, the rope in his hand, looking impatiently at Macfarren. A lucky idea flew into Macfarren's mind.
"A long letter to-day, Marian, my darling. Did you guess how sadly I wanted it?"详情 ➢
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