Unmarked6698
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
Anson's mouth fell open in terror. "You don't mean—" he commenced, then gulped, unable to proceed. And placing his battered hat jauntily on his scanty locks, Harry picked up his jug and was lost amid the shadows. "By gosh! that's jest how I feel, Bill. That lightnin' knocked all the scare plumb out o' me. I don't like these no-rain sort of thunderstorms though," he added. "They're always slashin' out when they're least expected.".
453 people found this
review helpful
kez_ h (Kez_h)
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
The Wopp parlor was seldom entered, except on very special occasions or when Mrs. Wopp with formality and no undue haste dusted the furniture. The room had an air of solemnity and gloom, absent in the cheerful dining-room where the family usually sat. A homemade rag carpet covered the floor. Six slippery, horsehair chairs, one of them a rocker, and a horsehair couch, which did not invite confidence, were ranged stiffly around the sides of the room. In one corner was an ancient organ, wheezy and querulous with neglect, and in another stood a lofty what-not, on whose numerous shelves were deposited the family treasures. Here, was a woolly lamb at one time beloved of Moses; there his tin savings bank. Stiffly upright stood Betty’s wax doll Hannah, seldom played with and then only for a few minutes at a time. Mrs. Wopp was represented by a few shell boxes and a match box of china flanked by a sleek china cat.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
“I hate to have you stay without Jean,” Billy objected.
658 people found this
review helpful
Conrad
"No, er the buried money," sighed Cobin. Mrs. Wilson turned to the door, wiped her red face on her apron, and finished emptying a pan of hot cookies into the stone crock, before answering, sternly: "Why to be sure," rejoined her neighbor, "come right along in an' I'll get 'em. I want you to see how nice my canned tomaters look." As they turned towards the house, Mrs. Wilson caught sight of Maurice, huddled in the big chair beneath the trailing vine. Wilson whistled. "What in the world does he want with that swamp, I wonder?" he cried..
298 people found this
review helpful