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"It is not you?" said the marshal. "Here! Spoil-sport!" Dagobert called, for the honest dog seemed to have a secret dislike for the pretended idiot, and approached him with an angry air. "No, my lord duke, it is not me!" resumed Loony.
This was the sole reason why he was incapable of taking his eyes off from her the whole of that night; and this incident settled the point, not only with the old people, but even the young ladies were forced, after every exertion on their own parts, to "yild the p'int to their sister Loony, who certainly was not the mist genteelest nor mist handsomest of that guid-lucking fimily."
It's enough to drive one loony to watch this sort of thing. Almost as he spoke there was a sudden flutter of excitement, as an order was passed from man to man down the trench. They were to advance and take up a new position on the top of the slope. There was no bugle note, no cheer, but at a whistle the men swarmed out of their trench and went uphill as hard as every they could go.
"This can't go on. Inside a week we'll all be loony or under the ground!" "Well, what are you going to do about it?" snarled Joe. "It's no good our fighting over her," said Big Jack. "She'll take the one she wants, anyway. You never can tell about women. Soon as she comes to-day I'll offer myself to her straight out and stand by her answer."
"Say, look here, John Kendrick! If you keep on talkin' loony in this way I'll begin to heave out a few hints myself. I may be as popular as you say, with Imogene and and the help, but I know somebody else that is catchin' the same disease." "Meaning Mr. Daniels, I suppose? He is popular, I admit." "Is he? Well, you ought to know best.
Even if he didn't say anything in actually so many words, there was the way he went about. That of itself was enough to have started the whole thing, to say nothing of that loony old Irish housekeeper of his, with her head stuffed full of elves and banshees and the Lord knows what." Again the Doctor lapsed into silence. One by one the lights of the village peeped upward out of the depths.
While Marshal Simon was crossing the little court with so agitated an air, reading the anonymous letter, which he had received by Spoil-sport's unexpected medium, Rose and Blanche were alone together, in the sitting room they usually occupied, which had been entered for a moment by Loony during their absence. The poor children seemed destined to a succession of sorrows.
She took a step toward the door, then she turned with a resolute air. "As for going downstairs and owning up I'm scared and having that Lippincott girl crowing over me, I won't for any red roses instead of peacocks. I guess they can't hurt me, and as long as we've both of us seen 'em I guess we can't both be getting loony," she said. Mrs.
Their hilarity was at its height when the door opened and Loony advanced into room announcing, with a loud voice, "M. Rodin!" In fact, the Jesuit glided almost imperceptibly into the apartment, as if to take possession of the ground. Once there, he thought the game his own, and his reptile eyes sparkled with joy.
Yet, at the moment when Loony listened so attentively at the door of the adjoining room, a ray of quick intelligence animated for an instant his dull and stupid countenance.
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