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All I say is: he's going to the Hyatts' in a day or two." Liff looked more and more perplexed. "Bash is ugly sometimes in the afternoons." She threw her head back, her eyes full on Hyatt's. "I'm coming too: you tell him." "They won't none of them trouble you, the Hyatts won't. What d'you want a take a stranger with you though?" "I've told you, haven't I? You've got to tell Bash Hyatt."
"Who's the girl? Who brought her here?" she said, fixing her eyes mistrustfully on the young man who had rebuked her for not having a candle ready. Mr. Miles spoke. "I brought her; she is Mary Hyatt's daughter." "What? Her too?" the girl sneered; and the young man turned on her with an oath.
The road was never quite free of houses. After occurring but sparsely for half a mile, they thickened into a village the suburb of Bursley called Toft End. I saw a moving red light in front of us. It was the reverse of Hyatt's bicycle lantern. The car stopped near the dark façade of the inn, of which two yellow windows gleamed.
Hyatt closes this communication, "a man is dying in the street in front of my door, the third in a comparatively small time." Mr. Hyatt's letter of December 21 deals largely with the sickness and the death rate on the island, which he characterizes as appalling. "Statistics," he says, "make a grievous showing, but come far short of the truth.
I don't say you won't be sorry afterward but, by God, I'll give you the chance to be, if you say so." She heard him out in silence, too remote from all he was feeling and saying for any sally of scorn to relieve her. As she listened, there flitted through her mind the vision of Liff Hyatt's muddy boot coming down on the white bramble-flowers.
The thought brought him back to the central point in her mind, and she strayed away from the conjectures roused by Liff Hyatt's presence.
After which they all went ashore and passed the time until dinner in various ways. And at a little before two Steve, Joe and Wink once more climbed the narrow stairway to Lawyer Hyatt's office. "I have here," said Mr.
When we entered the warm tap-room of the tavern the house above Kingsbridge, outside the barriers where the passes were examined and the people searched who were allowed entrance and departure; not Hyatt's tavern, South of the bridge we found a number of subalterns there, some German, some British, some half-drunk, some playing cards.
At all events I noticed that when, at the close of the meeting, Maurice put the question whether a second meeting should be held the following month, Jim Wheaton was among those who voted in the affirmative. There were no dissentients. When I came home from this meeting, I put on paper as well as I could Father Hyatt's pathetic story. It is as follows: Father Hyatt's Story.
As the buggy drew up two or three mongrel dogs jumped out of the twilight with a great barking, and a young man slouched to the door and stood there staring. In the twilight Charity saw that his face had the same sodden look as Bash Hyatt's, the day she had seen him sleeping by the stove. He made no effort to silence the dogs, but leaned in the door, as if roused from a drunken lethargy, while Mr.
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