Unmarked6698
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
In the background partly hidden by the gathering gloom, some fifteen men, and one or two women, are all huddled together, whispering eagerly, with their faces almost touching. The women, though in a great minority, are plainly having the best of it. "Violet, you may as well tell them all now as at any other time," he says, persuasively. "Yes?" says Mona, who looks and is, intensely interested..
453 people found this
review helpful
kez_ h (Kez_h)
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
All that dreadful day the man searched for the little girl’s mother, but their house was early prey to the flames, and he could get no trace of her. He was only passing through the city; and having fortunately saved his money and tickets, was anxious to be on his way across the Pacific. Consequently nothing better offered than to send the child with other refugees to the kind hospitality of the country.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
“Last November,” piped Evelyn.
658 people found this
review helpful
Conrad
"I—I should like to say good-by to Miss Mona, and thank her for all her goodness to me, before going," says the young man, rising somewhat slowly. "But he wants to marry you. I know he does. Tell me the truth about that," he says, with flattering vehemence. "You look like Marguerite. A very lovely Marguerite," says Geoffrey, idly, gazing at her rather dreamily. To-morrow will be market-day in Bantry, to which the week's butter must go; and now the churning is over, and the result of it lies cold and rich and fresh beneath Mona's eyes. She herself is busily engaged printing little pats off a large roll of butter that rests on the slab before her; her sleeves are carefully tucked up, as on that first day when Geoffrey saw her; and in defiance of her own heart—which knows itself to be sad—she is lilting some little foolish lay, bright and shallow as the October sunshine that floods the room, lying in small silken patches on the walls and floor..
298 people found this
review helpful