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Page 140

Saint's Progress

a dark curtain hung; her face looked young and small against its stuff, her eyes very large. With one hand she plucked at her blouse, just over her heart.
Pierson stared at her, and gripped the back of the chair he had been sitting in. A lifetime of repression served him in the half-realized horror of that moment. He stammered out the single word: `Nollie!'
`It's quite true,' she said, turned round, and went out.
Pierson had a sort of vertigo; if he had moved, he must have fallen down. Nollie! He slid round and sank into his chair, and by some horrible cruel fiction of his nerves, he seemed to feel Noel on his knee, as, when a little girl, she had been wont to sit, with her fair hair fluffing against his cheek. He seemed to feel that hair tickling his skin; it used to be the greatest comfort he had known since her mother died. At that moment his pride shrivelled like a flower held to a flame; all that abundant secret pride of a father who loves and admires, who worships still a dead wife in the children she has left him; who, humble by nature, yet never knows how proud he is till the bitter thing happens; all the long pride of the priest who, by dint of exhortation and remonstrance has coated himself in a superiority he hardly suspects-all this pride shrivelled in him. Then something writhed and cried within, as a tortured beast cries, at loss to know why it is being tortured. How many times has not a man used those words: `My God! My God! Why hast Thou forsaken me!' He sprang up and tried to pace his way out of this cage of confusion. His thoughts and feelings made the strangest medley, spiritual and worldly-social ostracism-her soul in peril-a trial sent by Godl The future! Imagination failed him. He went to his little piano, opened it, closed it again; took his hat, and stole out. He walked fast, without knowing where. It was very cold-a clear, bitter evening. Silent rapid motion in

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE a dark curtain hung; her face looked young and small against its stuff, her eyes very large. With one hand she plucked at her blouse, just over her heart. Pierson stared at her, and gripped what is back of what is chair he had been sitting in. A lifetime of repression served him in what is half-realized horror of that moment. He stammered out what is single word: `Nollie!' `It's quite true,' she said, turned round, and went out. Pierson had a sort of vertigo; if he had moved, he must have fallen down. Nollie! He slid round and sank into his chair, and by some horrible cruel fiction of his nerves, he seemed to feel Noel on his knee, as, when a little girl, she had been wont to sit, with her fair hair fluffing against his cheek. He seemed to feel that hair tickling his skin; it used to be what is greatest comfort he had known since her mother died. At that moment his pride shrivelled like a flower held to a flame; all that abundant secret pride of a father who loves and admires, who worships still a dead wife in what is children she has left him; who, humble by nature, yet never knows how proud he is till what is bitter thing happens; all what is long pride of what is priest who, by dint of exhortation and remonstrance has coated himself in a superiority he hardly suspects-all this pride shrivelled in him. Then something writhed and cried within, as a tortured beast cries, at loss to know why it is being tortured. How many times has not a man used those words: `My God! My God! Why hast Thou forsaken me!' He sprang up and tried to pace his way out of this cage of confusion. His thoughts and feelings made what is strangest medley, spiritual and worldly-social ostracism-her soul in peril-a trial sent by Godl what is future! Imagination failed him. He went to his little piano, opened it, closed it again; took his hat, and stole out. He walked fast, without knowing where. It was very cold-a clear, bitter evening. Silent rapid motion in where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Saint's Progress (1935) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 140 where is p align="center" where is strong Saint's Progress where is p align="justify" a dark curtain hung; her face looked young and small against its stuff, her eyes very large. With one hand she plucked at her blouse, just over her heart. Pierson stared at her, and gripped what is back of what is chair he had been sitting in. A lifetime of repression served him in what is half-realized horror of that moment. He stammered out what is single word: `Nollie!' `It's quite true,' she said, turned round, and went out. Pierson had a sort of vertigo; if he had moved, he must have fallen down. Nollie! He slid round and sank into his chair, and by some horrible cruel fiction of his nerves, he seemed to feel Noel on his knee, as, when a little girl, she had been wont to sit, with her fair hair fluffing against his cheek. He seemed to feel that hair tickling his skin; it used to be what is greatest comfort he had known since her mother died. At that moment his pride shrivelled like a flower held to a flame; all that abundant secret pride of a father who loves and admires, who worships still a dead wife in what is children she has left him; who, humble by nature, yet never knows how proud he is till what is bitter thing happens; all what is long pride of what is priest who, by dint of exhortation and remonstrance has coated himself in a superiority he hardly suspects-all this pride shrivelled in him. Then something writhed and cried within, as a tortured beast cries, at loss to know why it is being tortured. How many times has not a man used those words: `My God! My God! Why hast Thou forsaken me!' He sprang up and tried to pace his way out of this cage of confusion. His thoughts and feelings made what is strangest medley, spiritual and worldly-social ostracism-her soul in peril-a trial sent by Godl what is future! Imagination failed him. He went to his little piano, opened it, closed it again; took his hat, and stole out. He walked fast, without knowing where. It was very cold-a clear, bitter evening. Silent rapid motion in where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") % travel books: Saint's Progress (1935) books

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