The mere sense of his grasp in her own covered the ground of loss just as much as the ground of gain. His presence was like an object brought so close to her face that she couldn’t see round its edges.
We must see the old king; we must “do” the cathedral,’ he said; ‘we must know all about it. If we could but take,’ he exhaled, ‘the full opportunity!’ And then while, for all they seemed to give him, he sounded again her eyes: ‘I feel the day like a great gold cup that we must somehow drain together.
Why should a set of people have been put in motion, on such a scale and with such an air of being equipped for a profitable journey, only to break down without an accident, to stretch themselves in the wayside dust without a reason?
He fairly glittered in the gloom.
He put into his one little glass everything he raised to his lips, and it was as if he had always carried in his pocket, like a tool of his trade, this receptacle, a little glass cut with a fineness of which the art had long since been lost, and kept in an old morocco case stamped in uneffaceable gilt with the arms of a deposed dynasty.
Life had met him so, half-way, and had turned round so to walk with him, placing a hand in his arm and fondly leaving him to choose the pace.
This was immense, and they thus took final possession of it. They.
In American, the gentlemen obey the ladies.
Mrs. Wix gave a sidelong look. She still had room for wonder at what Maisie knew.
The chance had come – it was an extraordinary one – on the day she first met Densher; and it was to the girl’s lasting honour that she knew on the spot what she was in the presence of.
Charlotte was in pain, Charlotte was in torment, but he himself had given her reason enough for that; and, in respect to the rest of the whole matter of her obligation to follow her husband, that personage and she, Maggie, had so shuffled away every link between consequence and cause that the intention remained, like some famous poetic line in a dead language subject to varieties of interpretation. What.
It isn’t a question of any beauty,’ said Maggie; ‘it’s only a question of the quantity of truth.’ ‘Oh the quantity of truth!’ the Prince richly though ambiguously murmured.
But even while they pretend to be lost in their fairy-tale they’re steeped in their vision of the dead restored to them.
Absence was a sign that when it might be a question of gratifying him she had grown used to spare no pains, and I fancied her rummaging in some.
Art is long. If we work for ourselves of course we must hurry. If we work for her we must often pause.
Absence was a sign that when it might be a question of gratifying him.
The strangest thing of all for Milly was perhaps the uplifted assurance and indifference with which she could simply give back the particular bland stare that appeared in such cases to mark civilisation at its highest. It.
They haven’t been good – they’ve only been absent. It has been easy to live with them because they’re simply leading a life of their own.
And to ply them with that evil still, to keep up the work of demons, is what brings the others back.
What it all amounted to, oddly enough, was that in his finally so simplified world this garden of death gave him the few square feet of earth on which he could still most live.