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I'm not in the habit of beating women at any time, let alone at a lunch-party." "I mean what I say: you're not to touch either of them. If you do you'll spoil it. You're to go for Miss Bussey." "She's not done me any harm." "Never mind. As soon as the row begins and I say, 'Save the ladies! you collar Miss Bussey. See?" "Oh, I see. Seems to me we're going to have a lively lunch.
Miss Bussey's party had the pleasanter journey; they were all of one mind; Miss Bussey was eager to reach Paris because it was the end of the journey; John and Mary desired nothing but the moment when with trembling fingers they should tear open their telegrams in the hall of the hotel.
Miss Bussey asked only one indulgence from her friends. Before she did a kind thing she liked to be allowed to say one or two sharp ones. Her niece was aware of this fancy of hers and took refuge in silence. John, less experienced in his hostess's ways, launched into the protests appropriate to an impatient lover. What a fluster we shall live in!
Among the infantry and cavalry colonels were some who afterward rose to distinction David Stuart, Gordon Granger, Bussey, etc., etc. Though it was mid-winter, General Halleck was pushing his preparations most vigorously, and surely he brought order out of chaos in St. Louis with commendable energy.
Ashforth so suited to one another. Well, well, the heart's an unaccountable thing to an old spinster, anyhow." "You're right, Miss Bussey. Take my wife and me. You wouldn't have thought we should have hit it off, would you? No use! I bored her to death. At last I chucked it up." "Well?" "And I went one day and talked about the Grand National for half an hour by the clock.
"Is the letter so very precious?" asked his hostess ironically. "Precious!" cried John. "Yes! No! It's nothing at all." But he opened Paul's mouth and took out his treasure with wonderful care. "And why," inquired Miss Bussey, "are you not with Mary, young man? You're very neglectful." "Neglectful! Surely, Miss Bussey, you haven't noticed anything like neglect? Don't say " "Bless the boy!
Paul seized it and began to toss it about in great glee. "Good doggie!" Cried Miss Bussey. "Come then! Bring it to me, dear. Good Paul!" John's face was distorted with agony. He darted toward Paul, fell on him, and gripped him closely. Paul yelped and Miss Bussey observed, in an indignant tone, that John need not throttle the dog. John muttered something.
Crash! A loud noise came from the door, as if of some metallic substance thrown against the panels. "Hullo!" said Laing. "Oh, somebody tumbled downstairs," said Deane reassuringly. "Don't move, Miss Bussey." "Oh, but Sir Roger, what is it? What do you think? It didn't sound at all like what you say." The General laughed. "Come, Miss Bussey, I don't suppose it's "
The man stared, but a woman near him burst into a voluble explanation, from the folds of which unlearned English ears disentangled, at the third reiteration, the ominous word, "Dynamite;" and she pointed to the watering-pot. "Oh, it'll go off!" shrieked Miss Bussey. "It's gone off," said Sir Roger.
Bussey joined the grand procession in his yellow coach, drawn by six horses, richly caparisoned, and attended by liveried servants. On the opposite side of South Street one sees the very attractive house known to us as the Peters homestead, which, in 1799, was built by Captain William Gordon Weld.
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