The First Sir Percy quotes
The lines readers remember from The First Sir Percy, by Baroness Orczy.
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Standout lines
It was a bitterly cold night of mid-March in that cruel winter of 1624, which lent so efficient a hand to the ghouls of war and of disease in taking toll of human lives.
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… upon the horizon beyond the hills in folds of deep, dark indigo, levelling every chance hillock and clump of rough shrub or grass, obliterating road and wayside ditch, which in the broad light of day would have marred the perfect evenness of the wintry pall.
It was a bitterly cold night of mid-March in that cruel winter of 1624, which lent so efficient a hand to the ghouls of war and of disease in taking toll of human lives.
Not a sound broke the hushed majesty of this forgotten corner of God’s earth, save perhaps at intervals the distant, melancholy call of the curlew, or from time to time the sigh of a straying breeze, which came lingering and plaintive from across the Zuyder …
Like a young lion that hath been caged and now scents liberty once more, he inhaled the biting air; a superb figure, with head tossed back, eyes and lips laughing with the joy of deliverance, the inert figure of the girl lying in his arms.
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Another second and he was outside the door, at the top of the steps which led down to the quay. For an instant he stood there, his keen eyes sweeping over the picture before him.
Like a young lion that hath been caged and now scents liberty once more, he inhaled the biting air; a superb figure, with head tossed back, eyes and lips laughing with the joy of deliverance, the inert figure of the girl lying in his arms.
He felt her clinging more closely to him, and revelled in that intoxicating sense of power when the one woman yields who holds a world of happiness in her tiny hand.
Hers was that perfect love that dwells on the other’s happiness, and not on its own.
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She had done it not so much perhaps from a sense of duty or of patriotism, but rather because she knew that this course was the only one that he would never rue.
Hers was that perfect love that dwells on the other’s happiness, and not on its own.
She knew that, though for the time being he would find bliss and oblivion in her arms, he would soon repine in inactivity whilst others fought for that which he held sublime.
Gregariousness is essentially the attribute of youth.
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The girl felt inexpressibly alone, weighted with that sense of forlornness from which only the young are wont to suffer. With the years there comes a more complete self-sufficiency, a greater desire for solitude.
Gregariousness is essentially the attribute of youth.
And Gilda had no one in whom she could confide. Her father, in truth, had been all to her that a mother might have been;
But above your will, my lord, is that of God; and neither death nor life are your slaves.
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“A law unto yourself,” she retorted, faced him with absolute composure, neither defiant nor afraid, her nerves quiescent, her voice perfectly steady, “and mayhap unto your cringing sycophants.
But above your will, my lord, is that of God; and neither death nor life are your slaves.
”
People talk of a hereafter. Well, whatever it is, it must be a better world that this, so I would just as soon as not, go and find out for myself.
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As such, you have a right to hang anyone you choose. Me or another. What matters? I was very nearly hung once, you must know, by the Lord of Stoutenburg. I did not mind much then; I’d mind it still less now.
People talk of a hereafter. Well, whatever it is, it must be a better world that this, so I would just as soon as not, go and find out for myself.
”
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Chapter I
It was a bitterly cold night of mid-March in that cruel winter of 1624, which lent so efficient a hand to the ghouls of war and of disease in taking toll of human lives.
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… upon the horizon beyond the hills in folds of deep, dark indigo, levelling every chance hillock and clump of rough shrub or grass, obliterating road and wayside ditch, which in the broad light of day would have marred the perfect evenness of the wintry pall.
It was a bitterly cold night of mid-March in that cruel winter of 1624, which lent so efficient a hand to the ghouls of war and of disease in taking toll of human lives.
Not a sound broke the hushed majesty of this forgotten corner of God’s earth, save perhaps at intervals the distant, melancholy call of the curlew, or from time to time the sigh of a straying breeze, which came lingering and plaintive from across the Zuyder …
Chapter IV
“I mean,” Stoutenburg went on slowly and deliberately, “that De Berg had best wait patiently a little while longer. Maurice of Nassau will be a dying man ere long.”
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“You mean—” he ejaculated under his breath; and instinctively drawing back some paces away from his friend, stared at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes.
“I mean,” Stoutenburg went on slowly and deliberately, “that De Berg had best wait patiently a little while longer. Maurice of Nassau will be a dying man ere long.”
His harsh voice, sunk to a strange, impressive whisper, died away in a long-drawn-out sigh, half of impatience, wholly of satisfaction.
Chapter V
“There are more arbitrary things than death, my friend,” the Stadtholder mused.
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“Ay, my dear lord!” Diogenes replied. “And, secure in your gracious promise, I swear that naught can keep me from the scheme now save mine own demise.”
“There are more arbitrary things than death, my friend,” the Stadtholder mused.
“Possibly, your Highness,” the soldier answered lightly; “but not for me tonight.”
Chapter VI
Like a young lion that hath been caged and now scents liberty once more, he inhaled the biting air; a superb figure, with head tossed back, eyes and lips laughing with the joy of deliverance, the inert figure of the girl lying in his arms.
Show the passage
Another second and he was outside the door, at the top of the steps which led down to the quay. For an instant he stood there, his keen eyes sweeping over the picture before him.
Like a young lion that hath been caged and now scents liberty once more, he inhaled the biting air; a superb figure, with head tossed back, eyes and lips laughing with the joy of deliverance, the inert figure of the girl lying in his arms.
He felt her clinging more closely to him, and revelled in that intoxicating sense of power when the one woman yields who holds a world of happiness in her tiny hand.
Chapter III
“How should I be afraid of the darkness or of anything,” she retorted, “when I am with you. And how should I be cold, when I am nestling in your arms?”
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“And you’ll not be afraid?” he insisted. “It will be dark—and cold. We could not reach Rotterdam before midnight.”
“How should I be afraid of the darkness or of anything,” she retorted, “when I am with you. And how should I be cold, when I am nestling in your arms?”
He had his arms round her in an instant. He would have kissed her if he dared. But with the kiss all restraint would of a surety have vanished, as doth the snow in the warm embrace of the sun.
“Because,” he replied very seriously, “St. Bavon is the patron saint of all men that are weak.”
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“You are always appealing to St. Bavon, my dear lord! Why is that?”
“Because,” he replied very seriously, “St. Bavon is the patron saint of all men that are weak.”
She fixed great, wondering eyes on him. The reply was ambiguous; she did not quite understand the drift of it.
Chapter V
“I should have waxed obese, your Highness,” Diogenes assented whimsically; “and the horror of it would have sent me to my grave.”
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“Frankly, man,” the Stadtholder retorted with a smile, “I could not picture you in the character of a placid and uxorious country gentleman, watching with unruffled complacence the life and death struggles of your friends.”
“I should have waxed obese, your Highness,” Diogenes assented whimsically; “and the horror of it would have sent me to my grave.”
“Then, you inveterate mocker, are you ready to start?”
Chapter VI
Hers was that perfect love that dwells on the other’s happiness, and not on its own.
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She had done it not so much perhaps from a sense of duty or of patriotism, but rather because she knew that this course was the only one that he would never rue.
Hers was that perfect love that dwells on the other’s happiness, and not on its own.
She knew that, though for the time being he would find bliss and oblivion in her arms, he would soon repine in inactivity whilst others fought for that which he held sublime.
Chapter IV
Gregariousness is essentially the attribute of youth.
Show the passage
The girl felt inexpressibly alone, weighted with that sense of forlornness from which only the young are wont to suffer. With the years there comes a more complete self-sufficiency, a greater desire for solitude.
Gregariousness is essentially the attribute of youth.
And Gilda had no one in whom she could confide. Her father, in truth, had been all to her that a mother might have been;
Chapter VI
“Leave your husband’s honour in my hands.”
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“Obey His Highness’s commands. Find my lord’s friends and tell them to go at once, and return hither with my lord. Go,” he added; and whispered gently in Gilda’s ear, as he led her, reluctant yet obedient, to the door,
“Leave your husband’s honour in my hands.”
She gave him a grateful look, and he gave her hand a last reassuring pressure. Then he let her go from him, only urging her to hurry back.
Chapter V
But above your will, my lord, is that of God; and neither death nor life are your slaves.
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“A law unto yourself,” she retorted, faced him with absolute composure, neither defiant nor afraid, her nerves quiescent, her voice perfectly steady, “and mayhap unto your cringing sycophants.
But above your will, my lord, is that of God; and neither death nor life are your slaves.
”
No human being, my lord, can lose the freedom to die.
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“
No human being, my lord, can lose the freedom to die.
”
I am what you and my native land have made me,
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“
I am what you and my native land have made me,
” he replied. “As to that, the Stadtholder never offered to bargain with me for my father’s life.”
Chapter II
Women reserve their disdain for weaklings, and their love for their masters.
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“Ay! One you would do well to follow.
Women reserve their disdain for weaklings, and their love for their masters.
”
Chapter III
People talk of a hereafter. Well, whatever it is, it must be a better world that this, so I would just as soon as not, go and find out for myself.
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As such, you have a right to hang anyone you choose. Me or another. What matters? I was very nearly hung once, you must know, by the Lord of Stoutenburg. I did not mind much then; I’d mind it still less now.
People talk of a hereafter. Well, whatever it is, it must be a better world that this, so I would just as soon as not, go and find out for myself.
”
A man, meseems, needs no wits to hang gracefully.
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“There you are wrong my lord,” Diogenes retorted, and quietly transferred the jug to his other hand. “
A man, meseems, needs no wits to hang gracefully.
And I feel that I could do that best if I might quench my thirst ere I met my friend the hangman.”
Chapter II
Even so, my lord, I would sooner see my daughter in the arms of the stricken lion than in those of a wily jackal.
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“
Even so, my lord, I would sooner see my daughter in the arms of the stricken lion than in those of a wily jackal.
”
Chapter II
Such a droll fellow! Yawning on the brink of eternity!
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Then all at once he threw back his head and yawned.
Such a droll fellow! Yawning on the brink of eternity!
It was, in truth, a pity he should hang!
Chapter III
Lying hath been my chief trade ever since I was breeched.
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“I am!” the other riposted, wholly unruffled. “I am!
Lying hath been my chief trade ever since I was breeched.
Had I not lied to the Stadtholder he would not have entrusted his secrets to me, and I could not have bartered those secrets for a tankard of good Spanish wine.”
Chapter VII
Stoutenburg laughed as a demon might, when gazing on a tortured soul.
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“My God!” he murmured under his breath.
Stoutenburg laughed as a demon might, when gazing on a tortured soul.
Then he shrugged his shoulders and went on airily:
Chapter IV
Women have no use for weaklings. It is their master whom they worship.
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The look wherewith he regarded her was that of a conqueror rather than a lover. The title of the English play had come swiftly through his mind: The Taming of the Shrew. In truth, Nicolaes had been right.
Women have no use for weaklings. It is their master whom they worship.
Just one word of warning did he give her ere she finally passed out of his sight.
Chapter VI
It was just the sound of a prolonged and loud peal of laughter.
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Yet the sound in itself was neither a terrifying nor a tragic one.
It was just the sound of a prolonged and loud peal of laughter.
“By my halidame!” a merry voice swore lustily. “But meseems that your lordship had no thought of seeing me here!”
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