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Queer stuff and the color's interesting. That stockade of it planted around Groft's town has been up close to a hundred years and not a sign of rot in a log of it!" "Where is Van?" "The storm priests sent for him. Some kind of a gabble-fest on the star-star level, I gather. Otherwise we're almost ready to blast. And we know what kind of cargo to bring next time." They certainly did, Dane agreed.
"Abolition," as we were, the deed wounded some race prejudice in us, and Mrs. Hiram Cole voiced the general sentiment when she remarked audibly, "One color's as good as another, come Judgment Day, but let 'em marry among themselves, I say!"
"Miss Kenwardine," Jake replied with a twinkle; "though of course her proper color's Madonna blue." Dick said nothing, but walked on, and when Jake asked where he was going, answered shortly: "To the telephone." "Well," said Jake, "knowing you as I do, I suspected something of the kind. With the romance of the South all round you, you can't rise above concrete and coal."
You're thin, but your color's not bad and your eyes are clear. And down-town they have you dying." Dumont laughed. Tavistock instantly recognized in laugh and look Dumont's battle expression. "Dying yes. Dying to get at 'em. Tavistock, we'll kick those fellows out of Wall Street before the middle of next week. How much Great Lakes is there floating on the market?" Tavistock looked puzzled.
"Well, have you it in any quality of goods?" I asked. "Yes; we've got it finer." And he took down a piece of calico, and unrolled a yard or two of it on the counter. "That's not this shade," I said. "No," said he. "The goods is finer and the color's better." "I want it to match this," I said. "I thought you weren't particular about the match," said the salesman.
"Well, have you it in any quality of goods?" I asked. "Yes. We've got it finer." He took down a piece of calico, and unrolled a yard or two of it. "That's not this shade," I said. "No," said he. "The goods is finer and the color's better." "I want it to match this," I said. "I thought you weren't particular about the match," said the salesman.
But I 'ain't had a live time for so long I I lost my head. But I 'ain't got no right to spoil the only duds I got to my back. Looka this waist; the color's running. I ought to I Oh, like I wasn't in enough of a mess already without without acting the crazy nut!" "Aw, Doll, cut the tragedy! Didn't I tell you I was going to blow you to anything your little heart desires?"
"All right, ma," stitching placidly on. "What'll you give me, Ruby, if I tell you whose favorite color is pink?" "Aw, Vetsy!" she cried, her face like a rose, "your color's pink!" From the depths of an inverted sewing-machine top Mrs. Kaufman fished out another bit of the pink, ruffling it with deft needle. The flute lifted its plaintive voice, feeling for high C. Mr.
She's got color, a real pretty color, but it isn't the right kind." "That's just it," said Mrs. Ayres, wrinkling her forehead. "The color's pretty, but you can see too plain where the red leaves off and where the white begins." "Speaking about color," said Mrs. Whitman, "I am going to ask you something." "What?" "Do you really think Miss Farrel's color is natural?" "I don't know. It looks so."
"What what color's that coat?" I asked unsteadily. "Gray, sir." His tone was one of gentle reproof. "And the trousers?" He reached over and held up one creased leg. "Gray, too," he grinned. "Gray!" I could not believe even his corroboration of my own eyes. "But my clothes were blue!" The porter was amused: he dived under the curtains and brought up a pair of shoes.
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