Bradley passed the order down into the ship and a moment later the gun-crew clambered up the narrow ladder and at my direction trained their piece upon the
slow-moving Swede.
Jeremiah Cobb's
slow-moving mind that the bird perched by his side was a bird of very different feather from those to which he was accustomed in his daily drives.
Even when he was being lionised in London he had held before him his dream of peace and quiet--the long, white, dusty Indian road, printed all over with bare feet, the incessant,
slow-moving traffic, and the sharp-smelling wood smoke curling up under the fig-trees in the twilight, where the wayfarers sit at their evening meal.
Jeanne was a large,
slow-moving Norman girl, stolidly handsome.
Here a broad, beaten path stretched along beside the banks, on which path labored the horses that tugged at the
slow-moving barges, laden with barley meal or what not, from the countryside to the many-towered town.
For just when one needs them most of all they seem suddenly to have grown dull and unsympathetic, not a word of comfort, not a charm anywhere in them to make us forget the
slow-moving hours; whereas, when Margaret was here--but it is of no use to say any more!
She saw her face as the glass reflected it, but she did not see the changing play of expression which gave it its charm--the infinite pity, the sympathy, the sweet womanliness which drew towards her all who were in doubt and in trouble, even as poor
slow-moving Charles Westmacott had been drawn to her that night.
As soon as the band of duennas was fully in sight, the duke, the duchess, and Don Quixote stood up, as well as all who were watching the
slow-moving procession.
The vessel after striking upon the bar had swung loose again into a
slow-moving eddy, which returns up-stream close to the southern shore of the Ugambi only to circle out once more and join the downward flow a hundred yards or so farther up.
A quiet land is this--a land where the
slow-moving Basque, with his flat biretta-cap, his red sash and his hempen sandals, tills his scanty farm or drives his lean flock to their hill-side pastures.
The grace of those
slow-moving, certain muscles of his accorded perfectly with the rhythm of the music.
There would his body he preserved in its icy sepulcher for countless ages, until on some far distant day the
slow-moving river of ice had wound its snail-like way down to the warmer level, there to disgorge its grisly evidence of grim tragedy, and what in that far future age, might mean baffling mystery.