Unmarked6698
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
They all went off, a merry, noisy troop. And the disappearing sun was the last to say to Billy “Good-night.” Mrs. Wopp viewed with misgiving the ornate writing not yet erased from the previous lesson. She feared her own handwriting would suffer by comparison. In desperation he stood still, gazing at the windows above; reprimanding the dog sharply when he whined, though his fingers unconsciously patted away the sting of the rebuke..
453 people found this
review helpful
kez_ h (Kez_h)
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
🎁 Experience the Exclusive Cultural Charms of NagalandI 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
🎁 Exciting Rewards Await Withdraw with bet us withdrawal!
658 people found this
review helpful
Conrad
Yet before one could think, almost before the paper had time to burn, Jimmy sprang to her, seized her in his arms, tearing at the shrivelling paper, and jumped far out over the flaming boat into a deep pool. The sun rose over the hills and his presence could be ignored no longer. As the Wopp family were driving silently home in the chilly morning, Moses, growing reminiscent, remarked with a yawn: Al Newman arranged all the theatre parties for his wife and guests. He opened up the piano as he spoke and turned to the musician. In the house, meanwhile, affairs were proceeding quite as happily as those out of doors. The hostess fluctuated between the parlor and kitchen. She was preparing a repast not only for the workers present, but also for the men-folk who would presently arrive to take them to their respective homes. Excused from quilting, she nevertheless managed to spend considerable time with her guests. Mrs. Mifsud was a lady who aspired to literary attainments. She had read “Beulah,” “Vashti,” “Lucile,” “St. Elmo” and many other books of like calibre. She felt that her talents were practically wasted, living in what she termed a desert, yet she strove, when occasion offered, by elegance of deportment and conversation to enhance her gifts. She often spoke tenderly of the late Mr. Mifsud who, in spite of the fact that his face had been adorned with bristling side-whiskers of an undeniable red, had shown in other ways some signs of intelligence and feeling. He had been carried off by the shingles. According to Mrs. Mifsud’s account, her deeply-lamented spouse had considered the tall attenuated form of his wife “willowy,” her long thin black hair “a crown of glory,” her worn narrow countenance with its sharp nose and coal-black eyes, “seraphic.”.
298 people found this
review helpful