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At the post-office, when he was inquiring for his parcel, he had heard two old women grumbling in the street; it seemed, so far as he could make out, that both had been disappointed in much the same way. One was a Roman Catholic, hardened, and beyond the reach of conversion; she had been advised to ask alms of the priests, "who are always creeping and crawling about."
There is, in fact, no proper approach to this interesting edifice. The western end is suffocated with houses. Here stands the post-office; and with the most unsuspecting frankness, on the part of the owner, I had permission to examine, with my own hands, within doors, every letter under the expectation that there were some for myself. Nor was I disappointed.
We saw Frenchmen sorting mail in the post-office, painting signs for streets, making blankets out of pasted- together newspapers everywhere they were treated as intelligent men to whom favors could be granted.
Why don't you write of something near by, something or somebody you are acquainted with?" "Acquainted with! You're crazy, man. What am I acquainted with, except this house, and myself and my books and and Bayport?" "That's enough. Why, there is material in that gang at the post-office to make a dozen books. Write about them." "Tut! tut! tut! You ARE crazy.
As customary on Saturday noon Gordon found his copy of the weekly Bugle projecting from his numbered compartment at the post-office. There were no letters. He thrust the paper into his pocket, and returned to the village street. The day was warm, but the mists that had enveloped the peaks were dissolving, the sky was sparkling, clear.
There was, however, no alarm, and two days later, travelling by easy stages, they arrived at Estcourt, where their arrival with so large a number of cattle created quite a sensation. They at once put up a notice at the post-office, that all persons who had been raided by the Boers could come and inspect the herd and take all animals bearing their brand.
I've been through the post-office department from the information window here to the postmaster-general in Washington, and nobody'll help me find Mortimer Morley." "Then let me introduce him; Algy, this is Mortimer Morley; in less private life Mr. Tim Farley, and his wife, Mrs. Farley, Mr. Spofford." "Well, I'll be Billy-be-dashed," exploded Mr. Spofford. "How did you work it out, Average?"
"I heard Jimmy Day deponing at the post-office to-day that Charleton was still off on a trip." Douglas hesitated and looked at Mr. Fowler. "Go along, Douglas," said the preacher. "We'll bolt the door and no one is going to bother us two old men. You can't sit over me like a mother hen all the time, you know." "All right," agreed Douglas. "I suppose I do act like an old woman.
He could, of course, take her into the country to-morrow, if he chose to do so; but he could not hinder her from writing to the Dean; he could not debar her from pen and ink and the use of the post-office; nor could he very well forbid her to see her father. Of course if she did complain to the Dean she would tell the Dean everything. So he told himself.
He walked into a mud-puddle just half way between the field and the post-office, and stopped there till morning. Here we are, at Washington.
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