"Dripping" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... bay. It looked stormy far out in the open sea as we crossed the channel; thin tongues of fog were lapping among the western hills, as though the town were about to be devoured by some ghostly monster, and presently it was of course. The spray leaped half-way up our jib, and our fore-sail was dripping wet as we neared the town; there was a rolling up of blankets, and a general clearing out of the debris that always accumulates in small quarters. Everybody was a little tired, and a little hungry, and a little sleepy, and quite glad to get home ...
— In the Footprints of the Padres • Charles Warren Stoddard
... before seven, and it was after ten when the dear wanderers staggered into camp out of the dripping forest. Stickeen did not bounce in ahead with a bark, as was his custom, but crept silently to his piece of blanket and curled down, too tired to shake himself. Billy and I laid hands on Muir without a word, and in a trice he was stripped of his wet garments, rubbed ...
— Alaska Days with John Muir • Samual Hall Young
... chopped capers or pickles, one teaspoonful of salt, quarter of a saltspoonful of white pepper, and one gill of broth or hot water; stir until it is scalding hot, when it will cleave from the bottom and sides of the sauce-pan; then stuff the fish with it, and lay it in a dripping pan on one ounce of carrot and one ounce of onion sliced, one bay leaf and two sprigs of parsley; cover the fish with slices of salt pork, season it with a saltspoonful of salt, and one fourth that quantity ...
— The Cooking Manual of Practical Directions for Economical Every-Day Cookery • Juliet Corson
... shouted one of the boatmen, "there's a mistake. This is a keg of pickles, not powder. Look," and poking into the bung-hole, he dragged out a green cucumber dripping with brine. "Take this back, and give ...
— Israel Potter • Herman Melville
... rain. Week after week of drab clouds and drizzle, and no sun to hearten a man for his work. Week after week of bobbing umbrellas, muddy crossings, sloppy pavements and dripping eaves—and a cold that chilled ...
— The Lonesome Trail and Other Stories • B. M. Bower
|
