Unmarked6698
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
"Not ten, only eight! He went away when I was seventeen," I answered with dignity, wishing I dared be snappy at him: though I never am. "She was agitated, my dear young lady, and I have calmed that agitation." Elinor made no reply. Her eyes were fixed on the lovely fading panorama of life that was shifting before them. The twilight, the sunset, and the haunting magic of the miracle play still lingering with them, touched them all into sudden seriousness, and they stood silent and intent, forgetful of the whirl of pleasure and traffic that swept about them..
453 people found this
review helpful
kez_ h (Kez_h)
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
"This day week, then," he says, having heard, and taken to heart the wisdom of, the old maxim about striking while the iron is hot.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
"Is truth insolence?" asks Rodney. "If so, I demand your pardon. My speech, no doubt, was a betise, yet it came from my heart."
658 people found this
review helpful
Conrad
The others stared at him, and with the skepticism of thoroughly healthy minds refused to attach much importance to Etwald's mysticism. Jen was the first to speak, and he did so in rather a stiff way, quite different from his usual jovial style of conversation. "The way that girl has managed to wake up this little old town is a marvel," he continued enthusiastically. "Let's don't let the folks know that they are off until I get everybody in a full swing of buzz over my queen." I had never seen Tom so enthusiastic over a girl before, and I didn't like it. But I decided not to let him know that, but to get to work putting out the Clinton blaze in him and starting one on my own account. Naskowski slowly shook his head. He was half-clothed, pale as the white dress of Isabella Dallas, and evidently, from the wild look in his eyes and the quivering of his nether lip, badly scared. Stopping short a few paces from the door, he held up the lamp which he carried, to survey the astonishing scene before him. The sight of Jen tongue-tied and immovable, of Isabella weeping on her knees by the bedside, of the bed itself vacant of its dead occupant--all these things were calculated to shock even stronger nerves than those of David Sarby. Nevertheless, after a pause of sheer astonishment, he managed to stammer out a question:.
298 people found this
review helpful