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It commenced with B, and had two syllables. Boswell? Blackwell? Blayney? What was that fellow's name? I never can tell a story unless I get the man's name right. Bilton? Bashforth? Buckby? No, not Buckby, but that sounds like it. Buckley? That's it. That was his name! I knew I'd get it.
And presently it came; the sound of men's footsteps dashing up the stairs. The door burst open and a number of dark shapes poured into the room. Framed in the open doorway, a black silhouette against the light from the well of the staircase, stood Blayney, a pistol in his hand. There was a veritable hubbub of voices. "What's the matter with the lights?" "Where are the switches?"
He dropped off two or three times and I got the chaps to spray him with cold water. That kept him lively. Blayney and Parker are sleeping in the room now and taking shifts to watch him at night. Awfully sorry, you two, but I've done my best." "I'll get right up," said Ezra P. Hipps. "Say, Auriole'll be along presently. Tell her to stand by. She may come in useful."
Those who desire to see a more elaborate discussion of this prophecy, and an ample defence of this interpretation, are referred to Levis Letters, to Priestly; and those who are desirous of seeing an account of the various, contradictory, perplexed and multitudinous contrivances, by which it has been endeavoured to apply this prophecy to Jesus, are referred to Prideaux, Michaelis, and Blayney.
The late Lords Panmure, Dufferin, and Blayney, wonderful to relate, were six-bottle men at this time; and I really think that if the good society of 1815 could appear before their more moderate descendants in the state they were generally reduced to after dinner, the moderns would pronounce their ancestors fit for nothing but bed.
He marched heavily up the stairs and entered Richard's room. Blayney was on duty sprawling watchful on a camp bed, his elbows propped on a kit bag. "Get out, you," said Hipps, and the man obeyed. Then he turned to Richard. The last few days had wrought a desperate change in his looks. Caverns had sunk in his cheeks and his eyes were ringed with black.
We propose in this article to submit a few statements, the collection of which has been greatly furthered by recourse to the treatises of Babbage, Park, Duer, Ellis, Angell, Bunyon, Blayney, and other writers on insurance.
Swinging from the lintel, shadowy against the grey light beyond was, apparently, the figure of Richard Frencham Altar dangling on a rope. Even the perfectly trained Blayney deserted his post to leap forward and see, and in that instant of neglect, Richard and Auriole darted from the room and slammed and bolted the door.
"For God's sake," he cried, "for God's sake give me some more water. I'll give you twenty for a jug of water honest I will twenty " Blayney laid a finger to his lips and went out. The gesture might have meant anything. With trembling hand Richard seized the glass of water and drained it at a gulp. There was miserably little it barely cooled the heat of his throat.
Blayney found him searching pathetically for the last crumb when he came stealthily into the room and put a tin mug on the table. "I'll collect that twenty later," he said and vanished. Almost like a miser Richard took the mug in his hands and purred over it possessively. With a sigh of absolute content he raised it to his lips. Then a scream broke from him harsh, strident, savage.
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