A Silent Look Of Affection And Regard

Along The Paris Streets, The Death-carts Rumble, Hollow And Harsh. Six Tumbrils Carry The Day's Wine To La Guillotine.

The Wind's In The East. . . . I Am Always Conscious Of An Uncomfortable Sensation Now And Then When The Wind Is Blowing In The East.

No One Has The Least Regard For The Man; With Them All, He Has Been An Object Of Avoidance, Suspicion, And Aversion; But The Spark Of Life Within Him Is Curiously Separable From Himself Now, And They Have A Deep Interest In It, Probably Because It Is Life, And They Are Living And Must Die.

When She Took Her Opposite Place In The Carriage Corner, The Brightness In Her Face Was So Charming To Behold, That On Her Exclaiming, "what Beautiful Stars And What A Glorious Night!" The Secretary Said "yes," But Seemed To Prefer To See The Night And The Stars In The Light Of Her Lovely Little Countenance, To Looking Out Of Window.

He Was The Meekest Of His Sex, The Mildest Of Little Men. He Sidled In And Out Of A Room, To Take Up The Less Space. He Walked As Softly As The Ghost In Hamlet, And More Slowly. He Carried His Head On One Side, Partly In Modest Depreciation Of Himself, Partly In Modest Propitiation Of Everybody Else.