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Once twice thrice they went beneath, but neither Iberville nor himself let go, and to the apprehensive cries of their friends there succeeded calls of delight, for De Casson had seized the jutting bole and held on. It did not give, and they were safe for a moment.
She had noticed the embarrassment of Violet Oliver and the anger of Shere Ali. It was possible that Sir John Casson had also not been blind to it. For, a little time afterwards, he nodded towards Shere Ali. "Do you know that boy?" he asked. "Yes. He is Dick's great friend. They have much in common. His father was my husband's friend." "And both believed in the new Road, I know," said Sir John.
I want to get him to the surgeons as soon as possible " "You bet!" said Casson, wheeling his horse and displaying the new chevrons of a sergeant. "Hey, you black offspring of a yellow whippet!" he bellowed to a driver, "back out there and be damn quick about it!" And he leaned from his saddle, and seizing the leaders by the head, swung them around with a volley of profanity.
"His widow lives in a little house at the wrong end of Curzon Street." "But she is wearing to-night very beautiful pearls," said Sybil Linforth quietly. Sir John Casson moved suddenly in his chair. Moreover, Sybil Linforth's eyes were at that moment resting with a quiet scrutiny upon his face. "It was difficult to see exactly what she was wearing," he said.
Then he crossed over to where the maiden was sitting. "Mademoiselle St. Denis?" The girl looked up at him. Her eyes seemed to take in the dinginess of his uniform. She inclined her head. "I am Captain Menard. Major Provost tells me that I am to have the honour of escorting you to Fort Frontenac. With your permission we will start. Father Claude de Casson is to go with us, and Lieutenant Danton."
There'll be a bit got hin, if we've good luck. And he says, 'Eh, ye may be raight, there's noo tallin', he says, and I knowed by that" here Mr. Casson gave a wink "as he didn't come from a hundred mile off. I daresay he'd think me a hodd talker, as you Loamshire folks allays does hany one as talks the right language." "The right language!" said Bartle Massey, contemptuously.
His voice became suddenly clear. "John Casson Egerton's Dragoons. . . . Mrs. Henry Casson, Islip, Long Island. My mother is a widow; I don't think she can stand " Then he died went out abruptly into eternity. Beside him, in the grass, lay a zouave watching everything with great hollow eyes.
What mighty cheers were shouted on that day by the eager and enthusiastic spectators who lined the streets of Quebec! Father Albanel and Father Raffeix, Jesuit priests, the Abbe Dollier de Casson, a Sulpician, and the Abbe Dubois, chaplain of the Carignan regiment, accompanied the army. Three hundred light boats had been launched for the crossing of Lakes Champlain and Saint-Sacrement.
Qui vive! in the dawn." Some one touched Iberville's arm. It was Dollier de Casson. Iberville turned to him, but they did not speak at first the priest knew his friend well. "We shall succeed, abbe," Iberville said. "May our quarrel be a just one, Pierre," was the grave reply. "The forts are our king's; the man is with my conscience, my dear friend." "But if you make sorrow for the woman?"
Casson had the laugh strongly against him, and wisely fell back on the previous question, which, far from being exhausted in a single evening, was renewed in the churchyard, before service, the next day, with the fresh interest conferred on all news when there is a fresh person to hear it; and that fresh hearer was Martin Poyser, who, as his wife said, "never went boozin' with that set at Casson's, a-sittin' soakin' in drink, and looking as wise as a lot o' cod-fish wi' red faces."
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