Word: pockets
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...diary. He was sitting in his room, No. 26 Holworthy. His janitor sat beside him. De Smythe had taken a great fancy to this janitor, who had taught him to smoke. "This shall at least bring happiness to some mortal," thought the generous youth, as he drew from his pocket the object on which he had spent so much anxious thought and his last X. He unfolded the wrappings of tissue paper and presented the diary to the janitor, accompanying the gift with a description of its mechanism. The janitor was much pleased, and Fitz-Clarence went round to Adam...
...diary and took a long, lingering look at it. Then he shook his head. He feared Margaret would not understand without a good deal of explanation. Margaret was the cook at 1884 Beacon Street. She had been engaged to the janitor just three days. Taking from his pocket a photograph of this lady, finished in colors in the most approved style of the art, he, by a dexterous use of De Smythe's penknife, removed the mirror and replaced it by the picture; and then, intending to call at 1884 Beacon Street later in the evening, carefully wrapped...
...remarks of our valued cotemporary in regard to our defence of the New Shakspere Society are both facetious and irrelevant. We fail to see what the Aristotelian ???, or a Chinese pick-pocket, or the Royal Asiatic Society has to do with the subject in hand. Nor should our valued cotemporary complain of "athletic tabular views and ornithological ghost-stories," so long as they furnish a text for its widely famed humorous pieces. And when, as a parting thrust, it playfully insinuates that the Crimson is beyond its depth in speaking of matters Shaksperian, it is guilty of a degree...
...stopped; the strange movements ceased. Dead silence again. Stephen sat quietly by the fire, neither stirring nor speaking. I looked on in dumb amazement; and then, as I looked, I saw him rise to his feet, with a livid light in his eyes; I saw him draw from his pocket a revolver and point it at some invisible mark. I tried to shriek for help; I tried to move. I might as well have been a statue. Then I saw the revolver snatched from him by a hand; I saw a face, distinct and clear as his own - a face...
...into the heart of mortal man was depicted in my countenance. I fell at the feet of the brutal wild man, and implored him to restore me to my Linda. "Linda," said he, - his face wore a far-away, dreamy expression; his heart beat violently against his waistcoat pocket, and caused his watch-chain to swing to and fro, - "Linda," said he; then suddenly recollecting himself...