If it's white instead of black, and solid instead of liquid, and so on all along the line--then there's something
wrong, Monsieur, there's something
wrong.
I always make trouble by trying to help, and then letting out the
wrong thing," sighed Rose, much depressed by her slip of the tongue.
The young man listened to this tale of
wrong with all the seriousness that he could maintain; but at the sight of the pursy red-faced man and the dignity with which he bore him, the laughter came so thick upon him that he had to lean up against a tree-trunk.
Hitherto I had thought too much of myself, too little of him: now I forgot my own afflictions, and thought only of his; of the ardent affection so miserably wasted, the fond faith so cruelly betrayed, the - no, I will not attempt to enumerate his
wrongs - but I hated his wife and my husband more intensely than ever, and not for my sake, but for his.
The shape of that paper, my friend, was the
wrong shape; the
wrong shape, if ever I have seen it in this wicked world.
I don't know what you mean, either of you, by right and
wrong.
I wish I was
wrong, but--the clergyman--he has money of his own, or else he's paid; the poet or the musician--just the same; the tramp--he's no different.
Being able to possess it, I wrong myself and the life that is in me if I give it to you and forego the pleasure of possessing it.
Any sacrifice that makes me lose one crawl or squirm is foolish,--and not only foolish, for it is a wrong against myself and a wicked thing.
We had but one trouble all day; when a strolling piper came and sat in the same wood with us; a red-nosed, bleareyed, drunken dog, with a great bottle of whisky in his pocket, and a long story of
wrongs that had been done him by all sorts of persons, from the Lord President of the Court of Session, who had denied him justice, down to the Bailies of Inverkeithing who had given him more of it than he desired.
Yes, now when he comes in, I will tell him I was
wrong, though I was not
wrong, and we will go away tomorrow.
At one moment I found myself doubting the reality of my own adventure; at another I was perplexed and distressed by an uneasy sense of having done
wrong, which yet left me confusedly ignorant of how I could have done right.
Even if my own wrong had prevailed with me, and my own vengeance had moved me, could I have found no justification?
The mystery of the noises was out now; Affery, like greater people, had always been right in her facts, and always wrong in the theories she deduced from them.
He drew the listening savages round him by his nervous eloquence; taunted them with recitals of past
wrongs and insults; drew glowing pictures of triumphs and trophies within their reach; recounted tales of daring and romantic enterprise, of secret marchings, covert lurkings, midnight surprisals, sackings, burnings, plunderings, scalpings; together with the triumphant return, and the feasting and rejoicing of the victors.
