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Johannes himself had quarreled with his master and had given him a black eye; and as he was the only butcher who would engage him over there, he had left, crossing over at Lynoes with the machine which he had borrowed from a sick old scissor-grinder. "So you're a butcher," said Lars Peter. "I thought as much. You don't look like a professional grinder.
Now, the actual killing of an animal, the death itself, is not sport, unless the circumstances connected with it are such as to create that peculiar feeling which can only be expressed by the word 'sport. This feeling cannot exist in the heart of a butcher; he would as soon slaughter a fine buck by tying him to a post and knocking him down, as he would shoot him in his wild native haunts the actual moment of death, the fact of killing, is his enjoyment.
In the afternoon, he disposed of offices all about town, having the air of knowing of an impending surprise. Many times he passed before the doors of the mairie and of the church, without noticing anything suspicious; one could have believed the two buildings empty. The butcher, the baker, and the apothecary re-opened their shops, and stood gossiping on the steps.
The article, "Animals in Sickness," in the Spectator of July 23rd, has reminded me of the following anecdote, which was told to me some years ago by a butcher residing at Brodick, in the Isle of Arran. He told me that he had had two collie dogs at the same time, one old and the other young. The old dog became useless through age, and was drowned in the sea at Brodick.
The Press looked out the window. Dad commenced to butcher his gums with the pocket-knife, and threatened to put the fire out with blood and saliva. "Let's have a look at the tooth, old man," the pressman said, approaching Dad. Dad submitted. "Pooh! I'll take that out in one act!"...To Joe "Got a good strong piece of string?"
A converted Mohawk has been scouting for us, and he says that the Onondagas blame you for that whole galley business." "I know," said Menard, grimly. "You could hardly expect them to get the truth of it." "It was bad work, Menard, bad work. The worst thing La Grange did was to butcher the women and children. He was drunk at the time, and the worst of it was over before d'Orvilliers got wind of it.
"First there's the butter!" said she; "just smell if it hasn't a nice scent of nuts! It's churned especially for me, you know. Then here are the eggs. They were laid only yesterday, I'll answer for it. And, in fact, that one there is this morning's. And look at the cutlets! They're wonderful, aren't they? The butcher cuts them carefully when he sees me.
Chaffanbrass was right: I would not have admitted so much myself; but then no one knows a city jury so well as Mr. Chaffanbrass. Other causes came on, and still the jury did not return to court. Mr. Chaffanbrass seemed to have forgotten the very existence of Alaric Tudor, and was deeply engaged in vindicating a city butcher from an imputation of having vended a dead ass by way of veal.
But, because she has nested there for the last three springs, while the house was unoccupied, she thinks she has a perpetual lease on that bush. She hotly resents the iceman and the butcher and the apothecary's boy, to say nothing of me.
"You have done us a great service, young man," said the gentleman when I had concluded. "I was once in the butcher business myself, in fact, I am in it yet, but only in the export trade, and I know full well how dangerous bulls can get. Had it not been for you my little girl might have been torn to pieces.
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