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N-n-nine o'clock's n-n-nothing," assented Monty, who had never been out so late before in all his life. "Isn't it?" asked Aunt Eunice, smiling. "Well, all the same, though it is rude to dispatch a guest, I'm sure it is full time for you to be with your grandmother, as Susanna justly remarked.
"I haven't yet!" Clo snapped him up. "It isn't time. But I'm on to where the thing is, and how to get it. Only it may take till after ten o'clock. That's what I came to say." "Save your breath! Ten o'clock's the time. If she doesn't want me to go back on my bargain she'd better not go back on hers." He looked more than ever like a ferret, the girl thought. "Mrs.
Cloche. Sonnez la. Shepherd his pipe. Pwee little wee. Policeman a whistle. Locks and keys! Sweep! Four o'clock's all's well! Sleep! All is lost now. Drum? Pompedy. Wait. I know. Towncrier, bumbailiff. Long John. Waken the dead. Pom. Dignam. Poor little nominedomine. Pom. It is music. I mean of course it's all pom pom pom very much what they call da capo. Still you can hear.
"Five o'clock's tea-time, and you ought to have been here." "And if I wasn't here, it was your dooty to wait for me, marm." "Was it?" cried Sally; "then I wasn't going to. I'm not going to be ordered about and ill-treated, Jem; you always said you liked your tea ready at five o'clock. I had it ready at five o'clock, and I waited till half-past, and it's now five-and-twenty to six."
He thinks he's going out to a regular society At Home, where ten o'clock's considered just the beginning of the evening. Max won't at all like his turning up so late; it smells of non-productivity.
Unless some fillah cuts in and snaps her up." "Do tell me, Mr. Pellew, why it is men can never credit any woman with an identity of her own?" "Well, I only go by what I see. If they don't marry they go over to Rome when there's property dessay I'm wrong.... What o'clock's that? ten, I suppose. No? well, I suppose it must be eleven, when one comes to think of it.
And Bartle himself's never in bed till it's gone eleven." "I wouldna have him to live wi' me, then," said Mrs. Poyser, "a-dropping candle-grease about, as you're like to tumble down o' the floor the first thing i' the morning." "Aye, eleven o'clock's late it's late," said old Martin.
I've finished in there, so come on to the mess and let's have a spot for luck. Come on, Scottie. Eleven o'clock's all right for you, isn't it?" "Shan't say no," said the gentleman addressed, and they passed behind the orderly-room and in at an open door. Peter glanced curiously round. The place was very cheerful a fire burning and gay pictures on the wall.
"But Agg won't like me poking my nose in for breakfast." "You great silly! Don't you know she simply adores you?" He was certainly startled by this remark, and he began to like Agg. "Old Agg! Not she!" he protested, pleased, but a little embarrassed. "Will she be up?" "You'll see whether she'll be up or not. Nine o'clock's the time, isn't it?" They reached the gardens of Cheyne Walk.
Saturday night is the time they usually send out the biggest number of musical selections, and if we have luck we may be able to listen in on them." "Wow!" exclaimed Herb. "Won't that be the greatest thing that ever happened? You can't start too early to suit me." "Nine o'clock's early enough," said Bob. "Everybody come around here then and we'll make things hum.
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