Here are Ladies

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Macmillan, 1913 - 341 pages
 

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Page 129 - The sinners demand justice," said the spokesman. "They've got it," said Rhadamanthus, "let them stew in it." "They refuse to stew," replied the spokesman, wringing his hands. Rhadamanthus sat up. "It is an axiom in law," said he, "that however complicated an event may be, there can never be more than one person at the extreme bottom of it. Who is the person?" "It is one Brien of the O'Brien nation, late of the kingdom of Kerry. A bad one! He got the maximum punishment a week ago.
Page 349 - There is not another book like this ' Crock of Gold ' in English literature. There are many books like pieces of it, but the humor and the style — these things are Mr. Stephens's own peculiar gift." — The London Standard. THE CROCK OF GOLD By JAMES STEPHENS Author of "The Hill of Vision...
Page 91 - The Daisies In the scented bud of the morning-O, When the windy grass went rippling far! I saw my dear one walking slow In the field where the daisies are. We did not laugh, and we did not speak, As we wandered happily, to and fro; I kissed my dear on either cheek, In the bud of the morning-O! A lark sang up, from the breezy land; A lark sang down, from a cloud afar; As she and I went, hand in hand, In the field where the daisies are.
Page 135 - Now, indeed, his golden locks were drooping and his plumes were broken and tossed; but his fierce eyes still glared courageously against the nipple of Rhadamanthus. Soon they brought Brien. He was a sight of woe — howling, naked as a tree in winter, black as a tarred wall, carved and gashed, tattered in all but his throat, wherewith, until one's ears rebelled, he bawled his one demand. But the sudden light struck him to a wondering silence, and the sight of the judge holding the seraph Cuchulain...
Page 91 - THE DAISIES In the scented bud of the morning — O, When the windy grass went rippling far, I saw my dear one walking slow In the field where the daisies are. We did not laugh and we did not speak As we wandered happily to and fro; I kissed my dear on either cheek In the bud of the morning — O. A lark sang up from the breezy land, A lark sang down from a cloud afar, And she and I went hand in hand In the field where the daisies are.
Page 77 - То say that two is company and three is a crowd is to make a very temporary statement. After a short time satiety or use and wont has crept sunderingly between the two, and, if they are any company at all, they are bad company, who pray discreetly but passionately for the crowd that is censured...
Page 130 - Who stole the threepenny-bit? Who stole the threepennybit?" That was still their cry. Heaven rang with it as well as hell. Space was filled with that rhythmic tumult. Chaos and empty Nox had a new discord added to their elemental throes. Another memorial was drafted below, showing that unless the missing coin was restored to its owner hell would have to close its doors. There was a veiled menace in the memorial also, for Clause 6 hinted that if hell was allowed to go by the board heaven might find...
Page 89 - ... immobility. She opposed her cousin's kind eyes with a stony brow. "I think," said she, rising, "that I had better see to my packing." "Must you go?" said Mrs. Morrissy, with courteous unconcern, and she helped herself to cream. Her husband glared insanely at a pat of butter, and tried to look like someone who was somewhere else. Miss O'Malley closed the door behind her with extreme gentleness. So the matter lay. But the position was unchanged. For a little time peace would reign in that household,...
Page 137 - Gently she sang to timid pipes and flutes of tender straw and murmuring, disstant strings. A song that grew and swelled, gathering to a multitudinous, deepthundered harmony, until the over-burdened ear failed before the appalling uproar of her ecstasy, and denounced her. No longer a star ! No longer a bird ! A plumed and horned fury! Gigantic, gigantic, leaping and shrieking tempestuously, spouting whirlwinds of lightning, tearing gluttonously along her path, avid, rampant, howling with rage and...
Page 34 - ... saw around him. Public distinction forbade that he should become a recluse, like James Joyce. Whether he was writing of nature or the gods, the pictures are vivid and detailed, the language figurative in the use of epithets. Here is an instance from a sketch that appeared in Here are Ladies (1913): He liked to think of his first French conversation. He wanted something to read in English, but was timid of asking for it. He walked past all the newspaper kiosks on the Boulevard, anxiously scanning...

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