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"O-o-o!" groaned The Kid, shuddering. "It's dead! It's dead!" "What's dead?" demanded Bridge. "There's a dead man on the floor, right ahead of us," moaned The Kid. "You'll find a flash lamp in the right hand pocket of my coat," directed Bridge. "Take it and make a light."

Each line of the Italian words ended with a long "e-e-e," or an "o-o-o," and the American girl laughed at the strange song. "It is just the time and place to paint a picture, or write a poem about the Venetian sunset," she said. "It is so different here from what I had imagined it to be," she added.

In the stove was the sound of several bass voices in chorus, and she even heard "O-o-o my G-o-od!" Nadya sat on her bed, and suddenly she clutched at her hair and burst into sobs. "Mother, mother, my own," she said. "If only you knew what is happening to me! I beg you, I beseech you, let me go away! I beseech you!" "Where?" asked Nina Ivanovna, not understanding, and she sat down on the bedstead.

Finally the learned and aged Lord Grand-Daddy-Longlegs, who had been sitting in deep study, with his slender limbs crossed and his stemmy arms folded, said: "Deliver your opinions, brethren, and then I will tell my thought for I think I have solved this problem." "O-o-o!" "O-o-o! go to bed! go to bed!" with annoyed derision from everybody.

"No o-o-o," said Lapham, with a long, loud drawl; "I cleared out West too, first off. Went to Texas. Texas was all the cry in those days. But I got enough of the Lone Star in about three months, and I come back with the idea that Vermont was good enough for me." "Fatted calf business?" queried Bartley, with his pencil poised above his note-book.

'O-o-o, this sort of thing won't do, you know, Mr Perceval, said Sir Alfred fussily, adjusting a pair of gold pince-nez on his nose. The Head's name, which has not before been mentioned, was the Reverend Herbert Perceval, M.A. He had shivered at the sound of the 'O-o-o' which had preceded Sir Alfred's remark.