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To my mind it is incredible that these children, without collusion " But here Doctor Glasson pulled himself up and sat blinking. "Eh? Was there more than one?" queried Mr. Hucks, sharp as a knife. "There was a small girl, not one of my charges.
Purdie J. Glasson, Holy Innocents' Orphanage, Bursfield, near Birmingham leastways, I can't read the last line clear, the paper bein' frayed; but it's bound to be what I've said." "Why?" "Why, because that's the address. Holy Innocents, down by the canal I know it, o' course, and Dr. Glasson. Damper supplied 'em with milk for over six months, an' trouble enough we had to get our money."
"He's called Arthur Miles Surname Chandon an' he was born at a place called Kingsand, if that's any 'elp an' there's somebody wants to see 'im most particular." "Come indoors." Doctor Glasson said it sharply, at the same time turning right about and leading the way towards the house. Tilda followed, while behind her the excluded 'Dolph yapped and flung himself against the gate.
He was, until a couple of days ago, at the Grand Hotel, Monte Carlo, and I have no doubt is there yet." Doctor Glasson's face fell somewhat. "I thank you," he murmured. "It is a long distance." "A letter will reach him in less than two days." "Yes," said Glasson, and said no more. "But a letter addressed to him at Meriton would, of course, be forwarded.
She glanced over her shoulder, and Mr. Mortimer, interpreting the glance, nodded in the direction of the manhole. "Meanin' his Reverence?" he asked. "His name's Glasson. The Orph'nage belongs to him. It's a serious thing for him to lose one o' the children, and he's like a madman about it ever since . . ." She broke off and put out a hand to help him with the haulage tackle.
"She's an invalid," Tilda admitted. "Not your aunt?" "She's a a friend of my aunt's." Doctor Glasson pulled out a watch and compared it with the clock on the mantelshelf. While he did so Tilda stole a look up at his face, and more than ever it seemed to her to resemble a double trap its slit of a mouth constructed to swallow anything that escaped between nose and chin.
On pensions consult W.H. Glasson, History of Military Pension Legislation in the United States , or better, the same author's Federal Military Pensions in the United States .
"A stranger might say as you wasn' the best o' friends." "Nothin'," answered Sam after a slight pause. "Bit of a argymint that's all." "Wot about?" "'Tisn worth mentionin'." Sam glanced at the other two. "The theayter 'ere's offered Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer an engagement." "Well?" "We was discussin' whether they ought to take it." "W'y not?" "Well, you see Glasson bein' about "
"I got to tell you what's true, an' chance the rest. Mr. Sam Bossom, 'e gave us a 'and at the coal-'ole, an' Mr. Mortimer got mixed up in it later on; an' that's all they know about it. There's nobody elst, unless you count the pore woman at the orspital, an' she's dead." "That aunt of yours is she dead too?" Tilda grinned. "You've been talkin' to Glasson." "P'r'aps," suggested Mr.
They had scarcely crossed the threshold when Doctor Glasson staggered by them like a maniac, with Tryphosa hanging on to his clerical skirts and Tryphena in full cry behind. Butts brought up the rear of the chase, vainly shouting to call them off. "Down, Tryphosa!" Miss Sally ran in, planted a well-directed kick on the mastiff's ribs, caught her by the scruff of the neck and banged her ears.
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