Unmarked6698
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
CHAPTER VI.—AN EVENING IN THE WOPP PARLOR. “I think the linin’ of Miss Gordon’s cloud needs polishin’ these days,” ventured Betty, shyly. “Doubtless it is incorporated in the language of some foreign people,” conceded Mrs. Mifsud, languidly..
453 people found this
review helpful
kez_ h (Kez_h)
- Flag inappropriate
- Show review history
Mrs. Wilson stood with frowning gaze fastened on the door. She was a tall, angular woman of some forty years, heavy of features, as she was when occasion demanded it, heavy of hand. Tiny fret-lines marred a face which under less trying conditions of life might have been winsome, but tonight the lips of the generous mouth were tightly compressed and the rise and fall of the bosom beneath the low cut flannel gown hinted of a volcano that would ere long erupt to the confusion of somebody.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
"That's Croaker," laughed Erie. "Billy won't be far behind him. I had better go out and explain things, Frank."
658 people found this
review helpful
Conrad
After several rounds the mouse, at last seeing the open door, darted through it to freedom. Jethro a short distance behind assayed to follow; but taking a short cut under the back seat on which huddled the Mifsud family he unexpectedly encountered his ancient enemy Snappy the Mifsud’s collie. Snappy, who had been roused from his slumbers under the buckboard by the commotion in the church, had crept in unnoticed and had been an interested spectator of the proceedings. Jethro’s always superabundant energies were now turned in a new direction. Snarls and snaps and the fiercest growls testified to the bitterness of the feud. “Bully for you, Ladybird. I’ve got a backer you see, sister.” “Yes, Mosey, I jist want to go to my mornin’-glory garding to tell it good-night.” She rubbed her sleepy tear-stained eyes. “Don’t sit there wool-gatherin’ anyways, Mose, or the moths’ll nest in yer head. Ef you carn’t sing in toon, you kin bring up a cup of tea fer Miss Gordon an’ Mr. Eliot, an’ don’t fergit Betty an’ yer Mar.”.
298 people found this
review helpful