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Bertie was not exactly in the same frame of mind; the evil of the day was near enough; there was no reason why he should precipitate it. He had made up his mind to marry Eleanor Bold if he could, and was resolved to-day to take the first preliminary step towards doing so. But there was time enough before him. He was not going to make an offer of marriage over the table-cloth.
We will play you are an exile." "Well." "She had no clear idea of an exile, nor of a cosset; but she had faith in Bertie, and she felt that an exile must be something very nice." "You are an exile," said Charley, "because you cannot go into Grandma's house." "Am I, Bertie?" "Yes, dear." It was true. She could not go into Grandma's house. She had to choose between Grandma and the perfumery.
His progress was very slow, maddeningly slow it seemed to Chris. She watched eagerly for the first sign of light from his lantern, but she watched in vain. No faintest ray came to illumine the darkness. Surely it was he; it could be none other! Nearer and nearer came the footsteps, slow and groping. She listened till she could bear it no longer; then "Bertrand!" she cried wildly. "Bertie!
All this was said a little breathlessly. Bertie brought the volume, then only half the size of its present bulk, because it lacked our new nobility and gave no heed to your favourite recreation. D.V. Williams stood in the yellow light of the west window, reading a letter... "Cousin? No!
"It is something to do with Bertie," she said, in the same tone of unquestioning conviction. He raised his eyebrows. "What makes you think so?" She frowned a little. "It doesn't matter, does it? Won't you tell me what has happened?" He hesitated momentarily; then; "Yes, I will tell you," he said. "Bertrand is leaving to-morrow for good."
Anything about splitting trousers went straight to the simple hearts of the young scholars of Market Snodsbury Grammar School. Two in the row in front of me turned purple, and a small lad with freckles seated beside them asked me for my autograph. "Let me tell you a story about Bertie Wooster." A Wooster can stand a good deal, but he cannot stand having his name bandied in a public place.
This Bertie Elwood is, it seems, one of the many London acquaintance. He looks inoffensive, and so do the others, but I wish they had chosen some other spot for their studies, and so perhaps does their tutor, though he is now smoking very happily under a rock with Martyn. Such a delightful evening walk with Metelill and Isa as Emily and I had last night, going to evensong in our despised church!
When shall you be ready to go to work?" "To-day, if Grant can come with his oxen. I can postpone one visit I wish to make till winter." The next morning Bertie came riding to the spot on Whitefoot's back. Buck and Bright were there, the wagon backed down to the very edge of the water, while Star and Spot were dragging off a load of mud scraped or scooped up from the bed of the shallow brook.
I knew the lovely valley of the Loing, and the forest which makes the world green and shadowy from Bourrau to Fontainebleau, a world where poetry and history clasp hands. I should have had plenty to say about it all to Jack, if we had been together, but I was still inside the car, and by this time Bertie had induced his stepfather to consent to his driving again.
What would Saint Nick say?" "I know who Saint Nick is," Bertie answered, with a merry laugh. "It's mamma, I saw her last year come creeping softly into my room in the city, and hang it up. I'd rather have mamma than anybody, because she knows what I would like." "Well, dear, hurry and dress. Your mamma isn't awake yet; and then you can show us your presents." "Did you give me anything, nurse?"
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