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Late in the afternoon of the following day a drunken man, unshaven, unkempt, unclean and clothed in rags, lurched into a small pawnshop in the lower Bowery and planked down on the dirty counter a handful of inert, colorless pebbles, ranging in size from a pea to a peanut. "Say, Jew, is them real diamonds?" he demanded thickly. The man in charge glanced at them and nearly fainted.
With a second furious cry he stooped, caught up the helpless toen, and held him high in air. The canoe lurched heavily, and the next instant I was in the water. I never saw Obed again: and the toen must have gone down like a stone. For me, I struck out for the far shore, but the current swept me down on the sandy spit where we had nearly come to shipwreck, the day before.
When this procession entered Meeker's yard, Blue was lagging behind. "Blue, how air y'u?" called Blaisdell, with concern. "Wal, I got my boots on anyhow," replied Blue, huskily. He lurched into the yard and slid down on the grass and stretched out. "Man! Y'u're hurt bad!" exclaimed Blaisdell.
I shouted to the French driver, who, with his yellow toque pulled down over his ears, was chirping encouragement to his horses. "Sidi-Hamdane," he answered, without turning his head. "At the inn of 'Fin Tireur." Three hours later we drew up before a low building, from which a light shone kindly, and I scrambled down stiffly, and lurched into the longed-for shelter.
And while both men watched him Shorty with eyes that were terrible in their ineffable sympathy and impotent wrath; Warden in a paralysis of cold terror Lawler lurched heavily against the desk and slid gently to the floor, where he leaned, his eyes closed, against the desk, motionless, unconscious.
While the other two rowed, and by the Frenchman's orders, Joe began to throw out the iron. This saved them for the time being. But just as they swept alongside the Dazzler the skiff lurched, shoved a side under, and turned turtle, sending the remainder of the iron to bottom. Joe and 'Frisco Kid came up side by side, and together they clambered aboard with the skiff's painter in tow.
The two reports came close together as finger taps on a table, and big George, completing his spring, lurched face downward into the sand. Dead? Not yet. All his faith and selflessness were nerving the big man. And Donnegan stood behind him, unarmed! He reared himself upon his knees an imposing bulk, even then, and fired again.
There was no air and no water. The ammonia fumes from the manure were stifling. The car lurched and jolted along. Cecil opened his eyes now and then, and at first he begged for water. When he found there was none he lay still. The men hammered on the door and called for air. They made frantic, useless rushes at the closed and barred door. Except Cecil, all were standing.
She pulled the horses up, and as she stood still listening, a blurred object appeared almost in front of them. It shambled forward in a curious manner, stopped, and moved again, and in another moment or two Hastings lurched by her with a stagger and sank down into a huddled white heap on the sled. She turned back towards him, and he seemed to look up at her. "Turn the team," he said.
On a dim afternoon towards the middle of October in the year 1897, a funeral procession was turning off this road into the drive of Little Ansdore. The drive was thick with shingle, and the mourning coaches lurched and rolled in it, spoiling no doubt the decorum of their occupants. Anyhow, the first two to get out at the farmhouse door had lost a little of that dignity proper to funerals.
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