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"Well," said the Colonel, splashing mightily in the ice-cold water, "I don't know as I mind giving my feet twenty-four hours' time to come to their senses." A hurried toilet and they went downstairs, sharp-set for breakfast after the long, refreshing sleep. Father Richmond was writing on his knee by the stove in the reception-room. "Good-morning good-morning." He rang the bell.
Inside was a sleepy-looking waiter in his shirt-sleeves engaged in the leisurely pursuit of rolling up napkins. "Good-morning," I said; "can I have some coffee and something to eat upstairs?" He regarded me for a moment with a rather startled air, and then pulled himself together. "Yes, saire. Too early for lunch, saire. 'Am-an'-eggs, saire?" I nodded.
In a few minutes, the pony and cart appeared between the trees, with Humphrey and Pablo in it, and Smoker leaping up at his friend Billy. "Good-morning, Humphrey," said Edward: "I am almost ready for you; but the question is, how are we to take the calf? It is as wild as a deer." "It will be a puzzler, without Smoker can run it down," said Humphrey. "I take him, with Smoker," said Pablo.
"I don't know, but Joe Basalt chaffed me. He swore I was walking in my sleep; but I have come back upon my old opinion since I have thought the job over." "You mean that you actually believe there is someone concealed in the hold?" "Is or was. Now, you watch Joe Basalt, Harry, and see if there is not some thing very strange in his manner." "I will, if you like, but good-morning, Tiller."
"You are too exclusively Marneffe, Monsieur Marneffe," said Hulot, rising and showing the clerk the door. "I have the honor to wish you good-morning, Monsieur le Baron," said Marneffe humbly. "What an infamous rascal!" thought the Baron. "This is uncommonly like a summons to pay within twenty-four hours on pain of distraint."
Throwing a brief "good-morning" at the "old maid" of uncertain position, the Colonel walked heavily downstairs in the wake of his admired young guest. Monckton was scarcely four hours from London, but when the drive to Castleford was accomplished there was not too much time left to dress for dinner. Mrs.
I read in an essay the other night that the appeal of the highest should be always to the lowest. But you're not appealing to anybody; you're just following the band wagon to the centre of the track. Stop, Look, Listen! You've come far enough with me now. The walls of my prison house loom before me. Good-morning!" "Good-morning and good luck!"
It was a funny old figure, stooped and so one-sided that the tail of the long and shabby coat he wore dragged on the ground. The face was black and shrewd, and little patches of snow-white hair fringed the shiny pate. "Good-morning, Uncle Simon," said Mr. Marston, heartily. "Mornin' Mas' Gawge. How you come on?" "I'm first-rate. How are you? How are your rheumatics coming on?"
Bayley, I am exceedingly sorry, but I have no option but to act as I am doing." "In that case I must wish you a very good-morning," he remarked, and took up his hat and umbrella. I could see, however, that he was still reluctant to go. "Good-morning," I answered. "I hope your affairs in the Argentine may brighten before very long."
"Tell your mistress she need not send for me till five o'clock. I shall be very busy to-day." Then turning to the banker he looked for a reply. "It's no good-morning to me," replied the banker fiercely. "The night has brought devilish work to my home." "What do you mean, my friend?" was the judge's quiet reply. "What has the night done?" "Played the devil! Don't you try to trifle with my sorrow.
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