But when he left me, after a time, to think over what had passed between us, and to remember how kindly he had given way to me, my heart turned
pityingly to those other wives (better women, some of them, than I am), whose husbands, under similar circumstances, would have spoken hard words to them--would perhaps even have acted more cruelly still.
And thus he would die -- out in the cold world, with no shelter over his homeless head, no friendly hand to wipe the death-damps from his brow, no loving face to bend
pityingly over him when the great agony came.
"No; you miss many pleasures," remarked the cab-horse,
pityingly. "You do not know the relief of brushing away a fly that has bitten you, nor the delight of eating delicious food, nor the satisfaction of drawing a long breath of fresh, pure air.
"Poor devil," Scott murmured
pityingly. "What he needs is some show of human kindness," he added, turning and going into the cabin.
"The poor creature is starving," said Phil
pityingly. "Why, his bones are almost coming through his skin."
But she believed what he said, and when she had quite grasped it she touched his hand, smiling
pityingly, and said:
I had shattered his nervous system forever, he wrote, but had only stimulated his devotion to my family, and his Christian readiness to look
pityingly on my transgressions.
Also were there shaking of heads and prophetic mutterings, and the women looked
pityingly at Ikeega, and her face was grave and sad.
The fireman, as he looked up from his sweaty toil, sometimes found those eyes looking wonderingly into the raging depths of the furnace, and fearfully and
pityingly at him, as if she thought him in some dreadful danger.
He smiled
pityingly, in answer to the landlord's appeal, and said--
They were evidently talking of me, for every now and then they looked at me, and some of the people who were sitting on the bench outside the door-- came and listened, and then looked at me, most of them
pityingly. I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words, for there were many nationalities in the crowd, so I quietly got my polyglot dictionary from my bag and looked them out.
Rouletabille looked at me
pityingly, smiled carelessly, and remarked that I was reasoning like a postman, or--like Frederic Larsan.