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112 Cards in this Set
- Front
- Back
any chance |
comer |
|
far-reaching |
visions |
|
roomy |
workshop |
|
a tent-like |
pile of planks |
|
slanting |
sunbeams |
|
the fine |
grain |
|
a rough grey |
shepherd-dog |
|
lying with his nose |
between his forepaws |
|
occasionally wrinkling |
his brows |
|
to cast |
a glance |
|
It was to this workman that |
the strong baritone belonged |
|
the sound of plane and |
hammer |
|
the sonorous voice |
subsided |
|
broke out again with |
renewed vigour |
|
a large-boned |
muscular man |
|
with a back so flat and a head |
so well poised |
|
he drew himself |
up |
|
a more distant |
survey of his work |
|
to win the prize for |
feats of strength |
|
long supple |
hand |
|
broad |
fingertips |
|
tall |
stalwartness |
|
keen |
glance |
|
strongly marked, prominent and |
mobile eyebrows |
|
The idle |
tramps |
|
scarcely ever |
spoke |
|
The concert of |
tools |
|
working |
intently |
|
a burly |
red-haired man |
|
a sharp glance of |
surprise |
|
what’s a wanting |
to it? |
|
A loud roar of |
laughter |
|
look round |
confusedly |
|
he said, in a gentler |
tone |
|
The face was large and |
roughly hewn |
|
burst out |
afresh |
|
clapped his hands to his |
head |
|
coloured over the brow and |
crown |
|
a small lithe |
fellow |
|
You’ll mayhap be |
making such a slip yourself some day |
|
you’ll laugh on the |
other side of your mouth then |
|
Catch me at it, Adam. |
It’ll be a good while afore my head’s full of... |
|
writing his |
inscription |
|
making, by way of |
preliminary |
|
Let it alone, or I’ll |
shake the soul out of your body. |
|
and when in repose |
had no other beauty than such as belongs to an expression of... |
|
a plucky |
small man |
|
Let be, |
Addy, let be. |
|
in a persuasive |
tone |
|
don’t let’s have a |
quarrel about it. |
|
You may’s well try to |
turn a waggon in a narrow lane. |
|
Come, that’s |
wise of you, Ben |
|
I shan’t loose him till |
he promises to let the door alone |
|
good-humoured |
honest intelligence |
|
an uncommon pretty |
young woman |
|
Why, you’re getting as big a |
saint as Seth |
|
Never you |
bother yourself about me, Ben. |
|
but I don’t hinder you from making a |
fool of yourself with it. |
|
we must have something beside |
Gospel in this world |
|
But to hear some o’ them preachers, |
you’d think as a man must be doing nothing all his life but shutting his eyes and looking what’s a-going on inside him. |
|
running after some preacher |
a-praying and a-groaning |
|
it’s like |
enough |
|
none so |
fond of... |
|
By the same |
token |
|
my wife’s been |
a plaguing on me to... |
|
There’s reason in |
what you say |
|
observed Seth, |
gravely. |
|
turned many and idle fellow into an |
industrious one |
|
he’ll do his work none |
the worse for that |
|
you’ve got a joke |
against me as’ll last you your life |
|
the more’s the |
pity |
|
you are a downright |
good-hearted chap |
|
seems only to render |
more conspicuous the remarkable difference of... |
|
set up your |
bristles at every bit of fun |
|
You mustn’t take me |
unkind. I wasn’t driving at you in what I said just now |
|
you’re like your dog Gyp - |
you bark at me sometimes, but you always lick my hand after. |
|
the cessation of the |
tools |
|
a tone of |
indignation |
|
Look there, now! I can’t |
abide to see |
|
as if they took no pleasure in their work, and was |
afraid of doing a stroke too much |
|
looked a little |
conscious |
|
his eyebrows have less prominence and more |
repose |
|
you won’t be so flush on |
working for nought. |
|
said Adam, |
still wrathful |
|
what’s age got |
to do with it, I wonder? |
|
I hate to see a man’s arms drop down as if |
he was shot, before the clock’s fairly struck |
|
leave a chap |
alone, will you? |
|
You were finding fault with |
preachers a while ago - you are fond enough of preaching yourself. |
|
You may like work better than play, but I like play better than work; |
that’ll accommodate you - it leaves you the more to do |
|
this exit speech, |
which he considered effective |
|
shouldered his |
basket |
|
confiding and |
benignant |
|
lingered, and |
looked wistfully at Adam, as if he expected him to say something |
|
said Seth, rather |
timidly |
|
but being destitute of |
that vehicle for his emotions |
|
worthy |
personages |
|
destined to appear more |
phlegmatic than nature had made him |
|
gentle modulation of |
voice |
|
he had not a great |
range of expression |
|
looking pleasant and |
mellow |
|
allowing you to discern the |
exact contour |
|
bright and |
speckless |
|
as clean as a |
white boulder at ebb tide |
|
some speckled |
fowls |
|
an illusory |
expectation of... |
|
he’d be glad to |
have you to supper with him, I’ll warrant |
|
Adam hastened with |
long strides |
|
presently struck |
across the fields |
|
the tune which had |
all day long been running in his head |
|
a coronal |
arch that predominates very decidedly over the brow. |
|
taking no notice of the |
sarcasm against himself |
|
Egyptian |
sorcerer |