glithery, an anthology
“Deary me, Miss Kate, don’t ye talk so, don’t ye now! You make me feel that glithery! Dear heart, I thought I saw a man’s face peep out o’ yonder pricket!”
“Nonsense; there is no one,” said Kate.
When I think of […] those men turning away shamefaced when mother and daughter cried over each other, it makes me hot all over. Do you know, when I slipped off one of them got in my way and shook hands. He said nothing. That would have spoilt it. But I saw the confounded gas-lamps all glithery for a minute.
Oiled silk…. Of course—that was what her fingers had touched in the dark, slipping from the clasp to its cold glitheriness. No wonder she had thought about snakes. Nothing except a snake could feel so like one as oiled silk.
Disappointed, I crossed the river, and took the first path to the right: a Sinhalese sign-post helped not at all, but Ceylon Rest Houses have the entirely commendable idea of hanging up the local one-inch map-sheet. A motorable road has replaced that path since my last visit, but for me it was “een seer slycherige en glibberige Wegh” in [Fryke] Schweitzer’s delightful phrase which so well suggests “slithery and glithery”.