Waifs and Strays: Twelve Stories

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Doubleday, Page, 1917 - 303 pages
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Page 207 - Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, or hears Him in the wind; His soul proud Science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or Milky Way...
Page 190 - No, I don't remember the name. Them stage people has names they change as often as their rooms. They comes and they goes. No, I don't call that one to mind." No. Always no. Five months of ceaseless interrogation and the inevitable negative. So much time spent by day in questioning managers, agents, schools and choruses; by night among the audiences of...
Page 191 - Then, suddenly, as he rested there, the room was filled with the strong, sweet odour of mignonette. It came as upon a single buffet of wind with such sureness and fragrance and emphasis that it almost seemed a living visitant. And the man cried aloud: "What, dear?
Page 75 - This isn't quite fair. I'm needin' a drink, and haven't had a smoke all day. Haven't you talked long enough? Take me in the smoker now, won't you? I'm half dead for a pipe." The bound travelers rose to their feet, Easton with the same slow smile on his face. "I can't deny a petition for tobacco," he said, lightly. "It's the one friend of the unfortunate. Good-bye, Miss Fairchild. Duty calls, you know." He held out his hand for a farewell. "It's too bad you are not going East," she said, reclothing...
Page 26 - Talk about the tree of knowledge of good and evil in the garden of Eden — say!
Page 152 - He carried a black derby, high-crowned, and walked with a springy, noiseless step. To meet him for the first time you felt his most notable quality to be reticence, not a reticence of social timidity, but a reticence of deliberateness. If you also were observing, you would soon understand that his reticence proceeded from the fact that civilly yet masterfully he was taking in every item of the "you" being presented to him to the accompaniment of convention's phrases and ideas together with the "you
Page 137 - I'd like to be down South, where I could happen over to Miss Ethel's or Miss Sallie's and sit on the porch— not on a chair — on the edge of the porch, and lay my straw hat on the steps and lay my head back against the honeysuckle on the post — and just talk. And Miss Ethel would go in directly (they say presently up here) and bring out the guitar.
Page 267 - The Rue Chartres, in New Orleans, is a street of ghosts. It lies in the quarter where the Frenchman, in his prime, set up his translated pride and glory; where, also, the arrogant don had swaggered, and dreamed of gold and grants and ladies' gloves. Every flagstone has its grooves worn by footsteps going royally to the wooing and the fighting. Every house has a princely heartbreak; each doorway its untold tale of gallant promise and slow decay. By night the Rue Chartres is now but a murky fissure,...
Page 221 - LITTLE drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the pleasant land.
Page 75 - But you must go on to Leavenworth, I suppose?" "Yes," said Easton, "I must go on to Leavenworth." The two men sidled down the aisle into the smoker. The two passengers in a seat near by had heard most of the conversation. Said one of them: "That marshal's a good sort of chap. Some of these Western fellows are all right.

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