R. Bentley, 1883 - 488 pàgines

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Pàgina 371 - There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
Pàgina 231 - Arthur took little notice of him at first; he supposed him to be an humble assistant, or colour mixer of the great man's ; but, upon drawing nearer, he was struck with the exceeding and rare beauty of the face that was raised to look at him. But for the remarkable intellect of the high, broad brow, and the flashing light of the luminous eye, the face, in its sweet and delicate symmetry, in its transparency of complexion, might have been taken for a woman's. Sir Arthur, a passionate admirer of beauty,...
Pàgina 57 - Trust me, sweet, thy fears are vain ; Not for kingdoms would I harm thee ; Shun not, then, poor Crazy Jane. Dost thou weep to see my anguish ? Mark me, and avoid my woe : When men flatter, sigh, and languish, Think them false — I found them so.
Pàgina 322 - I think I may ask what brings you here ? " returned Miss Hardisty. " Ah ! Are you not taken by surprise, Maria ? " said he to Mrs. Yorke. " Didn't I knock ! I thought you should hear it was somebody. Did you think it was the fireengines ? " " Why did you not let us know you were coming ? " "How could I let you know? My old tutor had news this morning of his father's death, and went off; so I told mamma I might as well spend the few days
Pàgina 226 - When you are as near death as I am, you will know that all the different states of life, whether of youth or age, riches or poverty, greatness or meanness, signify no more to you than whether you die in a poor or stately apartment.
Pàgina 34 - Much use it is, wishing that," said the porter ; " I'd recommend you to turn and pack up, instead. If the things bain't in the cart by five, we shall have 'em thrown in for us. I know our master ; he sticks to his word when he's roused. You'd better begin with them pots and kettles. They can go in that empty case." Mrs. May dried her eyes, and slowly rose. " Come, Sophiar," she said, " von must lend a helping hand to-day.
Pàgina 229 - I am not given to metaphysics, Maria," remarked Mr Raby, as he again escaped from the room. Mrs Verner Raby died. Raby, in due course, went to Eton, and afterwards to college. A shy, proud young man : at least, his reserved manners and his refined appearance and habits gave a stranger the idea that he was proud. He kept one term at Oxford, and had returned to keep a second, when a telegraphic despatch summoned him to London. Mr \Terner Raby had died a sudden death.
Pàgina 246 - He strode away with her, and Raby, with a drooping head and sinking heart, descended the middle steps of the terrace. He stole along under cover of its high wall — anywhere to hide himself and .his outraged feelings. That action, those words of Mr Yorke's, had but too surely betrayed his interest in Maria. He came to the end of the terrace, and found they had halted there, right above him. He was to hear worse words now, and he could not help himself. " Then you had no business to do it — you...
Pàgina 12 - " Do try to speak in English, Sophiar," urged Mrs. May, with tears in her eyes. " How ever shall we get along if you don't? What is it that's the matter ? Did you see anything that frightened of you ?" " It is such a — what do you call it in English ? — dreadful piano. I had as soon have touched an electric battery. It has set all my finest musical nerves on the jar : ma tète est percée avec. I shall never be able to touch it again : jamais.
Pàgina 4 - Mrs. May drew a chair before the fire, placed her feet on the iron fender, snuffed the candle on the table behind her, and opened the publication she had taken from her daughter. Before, however, she was fairly immersed in its beauties, or the...

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