ONE:De Boteler's colour deepened as he made some hasty exclamation in reply, but the duties of hospitality were paramount at that moment, and shortly saying he would attend to him another time, Calverley retired.
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THREE:He bowed his head on the sill, and his throbbing brain[Pg 190] revisualised the whole horrible day. He owed the humiliation and defeat of it all to Albert, who for the sake of money and a milk-and-water career, had betrayed Odiam's glory, and foully smirched its name.
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams
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THREE:She moved down to the gate and leaned over it, while her eyes roved the twilight unseeing. The voice on the Moor swelled clearer. It was a man's voice, low-pitched and musical:"But what would ye have put in your own charter, Wat?" again asked Richard, endeavouring to draw the smith's attention from Newton.
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams
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THREE:Reuben could speak convincingly, and his extraordinary agricultural success gave weight to his words. If not liked, he was admired and envied. He was "a fellow who knew what he was doing," and could be trusted in important matters of welfare. In a word, he achieved his object and made himself head of an Agricultural Party, large enough to be of importance to either candidate.
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams
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THREE:"Reckon that lot had just about crunched me up. [Pg 14]I feel all stove in."
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams
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THREE:"May be not, Margaret; but yet that lady who sat at her side, looked not so high as the baroness. There was more sweetness in her smile, and gentleness in her voice."
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams
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THREE:Reuben's oats were a dismal failure. All the warm thrilling hopes which he had put into the ground with the seed and the rape cake, all the watching and expectation which had imparted as many delights as Naomi to the first weeks of his married lifeall had ended in a few rows of scraggy, scabrous murrainous little shoots, most of which wilted as if with shame directly they appeared above the ground, while the others, after showing him and a derisive neighbourhood all that oats could do in the way of tulip-roots, sedge-leaves, and dropsical husk, shed their seeds in the first summer gale, and started July as stubble.
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams
