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On a wet day she would say, it would be as good for you to be in the Back of Beyond itself, as here, where you might be flattening your nose all day and not see as much as a bike going by. Dr. Mangan, however, fully recognised the value of this seclusion. His surgery was at the back of the house, and its unbroken quiet was grateful to a man who had much to do, and plenty to think of.
The freedom-loving girl of to-day, who can enjoy a walk by herself without losing her reputation, who can ride down the street on her "bike" without being hooted at, who can play a mixed double at tennis without being compelled by public opinion to marry her partner, who can, in short, lead a human creature's life, and not that of a lap-dog led about at the end of a string, might pause to think what she owes to the "unsexed creatures" who fought her battle for her fifty years ago.
Do you remember a great bowl of strawberries and cream with a huge ice in it, that you had the day before you left school, after that hot bike ride to Leamington? Not bad, was it? Shut up, you beast! Oh, curse this idiotic war! Why are we such fools? SCENE. As before. CECIL is discovered reading a letter from home. Tom dead. Good Lord! What times we have had together!
There was nothing for it but to wind my trouser leg right around the sprocket, not an easy task when you're lying on the ground attached to a heavy bike. The trouser leg was not badly damaged, some minor perforations but a lot of black grease. Usually after that I walked. DO STAFF No.1BW, SHAIBA, 1944 Jim Parks Jack Walker Jock Pulsford John Village John Cox And that bike
We told him that there were eight dead Germans piled at the side of the road, and we reminded him that it had been a sweltering day. We were terribly tired in the morning. Spuggy, George, and Orr went off to Paris for new bicycles, and we were left short-handed again. Another tropical day. The Skipper rode the spare bike with great dash, the elder Cecil and I attendant.
But something in the middle of the road, as they made another corner, stopped all this fun. "Hullo!" exclaimed Walky. "That young feller on the gasoline bike has had an accident. Don't it look that way to you?" The team drew to a halt without any command, and directly beside the young man, who was working diligently over the overturned motorcycle.
The fish sandwiches arrived, and Joe watched the toddler with an ice cream cone in Honolulu, the girl veering her bike into a Maine hedge, the teen-ager leaving home, the Seattle executive as she took a large bite. "Mmmm," she said with her mouth full, "mmm Ivar's." "Have you heard from Maxie lately?" she asked. "Not for a couple of months. He's still in New Zealand."
Joe Kramer arriving in Paris at midnight on a punctured tire, and cursing the cobblestone pavements over which he had hunted us out. A hot supper, a bottle of wine, a genial beam on all three of us, and Joe told his story. After leaving college, from New York he had gone to Kansas City, and by the "livest paper" there he had been sent abroad with a bike to do a series of "Sunday specials."
And all the time her youth had been waiting for her at the other end, at the turn of the unknown road, at thirty-nine. All through the autumn and winter Richard Nicholson had kept on writing. Her poems would be out on the tenth of April. On the third the note came. "Shall I still find you at Morfe if I come down this week-end? "You will never find me anywhere else. "I shall bike from Durlingham.
What have boys, or sturdy young men, or sturdy old ones for that matter, to do with fashion? The bike is here, and it has come to stay, and to go on revolving as long as folks live on a revolving world.
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