Unmarked6698
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
but I can “Billy, I don’t like the look of your eyes; you’re reading too much at night,” his mother said one evening when he was helping with the dishes. “You must go to bed earlier.” CHAPTER XI.—JONAH AND THE WHALE..
453 people found this
review helpful
kez_ h (Kez_h)
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
Those who wish to know something about how the people lived who told these stories will find their ways of life described in the last chapter of this book.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
Great cascades of water are rushing from the high hills, tumbling, hurrying, with their own melodious music, into the rocky basins that kind nature has built to receive them. The soothing voices of the air are growing louder, more full of strength; the branches of the elms bow down before them; the gentle wind, "a sweet and passionate wooer," kisses the blushing leaf with perhaps a fiercer warmth than it did a month agone.
658 people found this
review helpful
Conrad
CHAPTER IV.—WASH-DAY AT MRS. WOPP’S. “The child may eclipse you in refining Billy’s language,” Mrs. Bennett said, with a smile, aside to Edith; and went into the kitchen to “dish up” the dinner. While Betty, mounted on a bench in the shed, was getting down her watering-can, Job, who during the afternoon had searched diligently but vainly for her, rounded the corner of the garden fence. He noted the open gate and sped towards it. As he entered the garden his eye fell on St. Elmo who stood absorbed and expectant. The turkey, his odd corner-wise gait accentuated by his anxiety of mind, rushed towards the child who at first did not notice his approach. But presently, turning around, St. Elmo beheld an apparently formidable assailant which by the most powerful flight of imagination could not be mistaken for a fairy. All escape by way of the gate was shut off by the intruder. St. Elmo’s plump legs, bare above his low socks, twinkled as he ran wildly towards the foot of the garden. “Why, Billy, what has happened to make you think so?”.
298 people found this
review helpful