Their laughter was like the stridulation of the ghosts of grasshoppers.
It's a fine, warm day,_ Henry replied. __ thought a spot of fishing?___ust the thing!_ said Felix. __ill you join us, Lucy?_ Lucy felt Kitty and Sophia staring at her. Well-bred ladies, evidently, did not fish. __h, no! I assure you, Mr. Crowley-Cumberbatch, I have given up those hoyden pursuits of my youth._ She turned to Toby. __ haven't been fishing in ages. I can't remember the last time.___eally, Luce?_ Toby sounded incredulous. __enry__s it true?__enry sawed away at a slice of ham. __f you count six days as ages, then I suppose it's true. But if you can't remember six days back, Lucy, and you've forgotten Felix's Christian name, I'm concerned for you. Perhaps you've been spending too much time with Aunt Matilda.
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It's a fine, warm day,_ Henry replied. __ thought a spot of fishing?___ust the thing!_ said Felix. __ill you join us, Lucy?_ Lucy felt Kitty and Sophia staring at her. Well-bred ladies, evidently, did not fish. __h, no! I assure you, Mr. Crowley-Cumberbatch, I have given up those hoyden pursuits of my youth._ She turned to Toby. __ haven't been fishing in ages. I can't remember the last time.___eally, Luce?_ Toby sounded incredulous. __enry__s it true?__enry sawed away at a slice of ham. __f you count six days as ages, then I suppose it's true. But if you can't remember six days back, Lucy, and you've forgotten Felix's Christian name, I'm concerned for you. Perhaps you've been spending too much time with Aunt Matilda.
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Just behind his jaw bones a tiny movement was perceptible, like the movement of gills in a fish.
Franklin Fletcher dreamed of luxury in the form of tiger-skins and beautiful women. He was prepared, at a pinch, to forgo the tiger-skins. Unfortunately the beautiful women seemed equally rare and inaccessible. At his office and at his boarding-house the girls were mere mice, or cattish, or kittenish, or had insufficiently read the advertisements.
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There are some young almond tress, which ordinarily look as if drawn by a childish hand. Now, as the wind sets their weak branches gibbering, they seem like shamanistic scratches on the white bone of the brittle bright night.