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I mean, there's nothing wrong with Clara, but Willow is my name. She was working herself up to call home. Writing the letter first made the decision more of a fait accompli, even though she hadn't mailed it. She rode her bike into town and dropped the letter through the slot inside the post office. "That's that," she said and felt better. She called collect from a pay phone and got her mother.
Furious was the hive of wasps that Buccleuch brought about his head by thus insultingly casting a stone into the English bike. The wrath of Queen Elizabeth was unappeasable.
"Certainly would like a swim," he remarked. "Couldn't we bike down to Fisher's Pond, or maybe take the Ford?" "Let's. But there's no bath-house." "Put a bathing-suit under your dress. Sun 'll dry it in no time, after the swim." "As you command, my liege." And she ran in to change.
A bonny bike there's o' them! And for your Court o' Session "
I wonder how many generations a man must be removed from Scotland before he becomes callous to the disposition of the family name. I own that I squirmed inwardly, but with outward composure asked Belle where Mary got the "bike." "Watty's old one. He taught Mary to ride it, and then made her a present of it, for he's set his heart on a new wheel." "Confoundedly generous of him!"
If Misery sees him 'e can pretend to be goin' to the shop for some hoil. This was done. Bert went to the gate and returned almost immediately: the bike was gone. As the good news spread through the house a chorus of thanksgiving burst forth. 'Thank Gord! said one. 'Hope the b r falls orf and breaks 'is bloody neck, said another.
It can't be done. I first met the Reverend on the top of Box Hill one Saturday afternoon. Bike had punctured, and the Reverend gave me the loan of his cyclists' repairing outfit. We had our tea together. Watercress, bread-and-butter, and two sorts of jam one bob per head. He issued an invite to his diggings in the Temple. Cocoa and cigs. of an evening. Regular pally, him and me was.
He goes to some kind of night school or gymnasium. Probably an ugly little beggar. Why doesn't he get his food for himself? The Mother. Don't know anything about her except that she went to Birmingham with Kathleen. The Father. Has lumbago." "One thing you don't mention," said Graham. "It's an easy run from here to Wolverhampton on a motor bike!"
The Women's Rescue League met recently at Washington and launched a double-shotted anathema at the female bike fiend. The Leaguers attribute to the bicycle craze "the alarming increase" in the number of courtesans, and call upon ministers and respectable women everywhere to denounce cycling by the sex as "vulgar and indecent." Nor do they stop there.
The engineer-in-chief, looking in at the door of the empty sala, whence the political tide had ebbed out to the last insignificant drop, nodded familiarly to the master of the house, standing motionless like a tall beacon amongst the deserted shoals of furniture. "Good-night, I am going. Got my bike downstairs. The railway will know where to go for dynamite should we get short at any time.
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