When I revealed to Harris the fact that the passenger part of this glacier--the central part--the lightning-express part, so to speak--was not due in Zermatt till the summer of 2378, and that the baggage, coming along the slow
edge, would not arrive until some generations later, he burst out with:
At the moment of speaking her hat had blown off into the road, their present speed on the upland being by no means slow
. D'Urberville pulled up, and said he would get it for her, but Tess was down on the other side.
"No American goes slow
," said Ian Maclaren, "if he has the chance of going fast; he does not stop to talk if he can talk walking; and he does not walk if he can ride." He is as pleased as a child with a new toy when some speed record is broken, when a pair of shoes is made in eleven minutes, when a man lays twelve hundred bricks in an hour, or when a ship crosses the Atlantic in four and a half days.
Verily, too early died that Hebrew whom the preachers of slow
death honour: and to many hath it proved a calamity that he died too early.
The violinist, within a yard of where Michael sat squatted on his haunches, played the notes of "Home, Sweet Home" with loud slow
exactitude and emphasis.
She walked with a slow
glide in unconscious imitation of Mademoiselle Tavie whom some youthful affliction had robbed of earthly compensation while leaving her in possession of youth's illusions.
A dolorous place it was, this canoe house, filled with groans and sighs, corpses beneath the floor and composing the floor, creatures soon to be corpses upon the floor, corpses swinging in aerial sepulchre overhead, long black canoes, high-ended like beaked predatory monsters, dimly looming in the light of a slow
fire where sat an ancient of the tribe of Somo at his interminable task of smoke-curing a bushman's head.
I took one slow
step at a time and there warn't a sound, only I thought I could hear my heart.
At the end, as the band slowed
in the last bars, they, too, slowed
, their dance fading with the music in a lengthening glide that ceased with the last lingering tone.
It was evidently a slow
poison, and not too strong, that the bushmen used, for the wounded Poonga-Poonga man was still alive, and though his swollen shoulder was enormous, the inflammation had already begun to go down.
degrees, the hovering head (perfectly still when she first saw it) began to descend towards Agnes as she lay beneath.
There was a sound of a slow
getting up and going away.