Unmarked6698
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
"Never mind Larry," says the farmer, impatiently. "This is the seventh time he has died this year. But think of Misther Rodney here. Can't ye do something for him?" The stranger is advancing slowly: he is swarthy, and certainly not prepossessing. His hair is of that shade and texture that suggests unpleasantly the negro. His lips are a trifle thick, his eyes like sloes. There is, too, an expression of low cunning in these latter features that breeds disgust in the beholder. This is a bad beginning. Mr. Rodney, before replying, judiciously gains time, and makes a diversion by poking the fire..
453 people found this
review helpful
kez_ h (Kez_h)
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
She was very pale and tired looking, but as graceful and charming as ever. She inquired after Elinor with a profuse sympathy that more than satisfied the warm-hearted Patricia, whose compassion stirred at her look of fatigue.I tried logging in using my phone number and I
was supposed to get a verification code text,but didn't
get it. I clicked resend a couple time, tried the "call
me instead" option twice but didn't get a call
either. the trouble shooting had no info on if the call
me instead fails.There was
Patricia halted by the chair at a side table where her name card lay. Her eyes were fastened on Judith with a peculiarly penetrating gaze, and her firm grasp detained the arm that would have escaped.
658 people found this
review helpful
Conrad
"Where are we now?" says Geoffrey, suddenly, stopping and facing "the boy." "As you have refused to explain your presence here to me, you shall remain where you now are until help arrives," says Mona, with evident determination. "Then I suppose when there you were too young to go out?" pursues the poor duchess, striving for information. So the grudge, being well watered, grew and flourished, and at last, as I said, the old man made a will one night, in the presence of the gardener and his nephew, who witnessed it, leaving all he possessed—save the title and some outside property, which he did not possess—to his younger son. And, having made this will, he went to his bed, and in the cold night, all alone, he died there, and was found in the morning stiff and stark, with the gay spring sunshine pouring in upon him, while the birds sang without as though to mock death's power, and the flowers broke slowly into life..
298 people found this
review helpful