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Sergeant Alois Weischaar, Company A, Sergeant William Eyder, Company G, Private Lewis Kastner, Company A. Private Joe Seman, Company B, Private Abram Greenberg, Company C. Private Joseph Hoft, Company D, Private O'Connor L. Jones, Company D, Private Louis Misiak, Company E, Private George C. Murray, Company F, Private John Bremer, Company G, Private Fred H. Chase, Company H, Private Martin Pyne, Company H,
Even then, with my limited knowledge of painting, he seemed to me to furnish the antithesis to Pyne, one too careful of style and running to excessive precision, the other too negligent and running into indecision; and this judgment still holds.
When she looked in the little keepsake mirror she always hoped to see some faint reflection of Helena Vernon, but there was only her own brown old New England face to look back at her wonderingly. Miss Pyne went less and less often to pay visits to her friends in Boston; there were very few friends left to come to Ashford and make long visits in the summer, and life grew more and more monotonous.
A furious hatred of the one-eyed Chinaman around whom he was convinced the mystery centred had grown up within his mind. At that hour he would gladly have resigned his post and sacrificed his pension to know that Sin Sin Wa was under lock and key. His outlook was official, and accordingly peculiar. He regarded the murder of Sir Lucien Pyne and the flight or abduction of Mrs.
"Huh!" says I. "And now you've not only disgraced those turkeys for life but you've made me hand Mr. Pyne some raw nature-fakin' stuff that nobody but a fool author would swallow." "I mucha sorry," says Joe, hangin' his head. "All right," says I. "I expect you meant well. But it was a bum hunch. Now see they have plenty of water to drink and by mornin' maybe they'll sober up."
We recall Marietta Alboni, the greatest contralto of the middle of the last century, with a voice rich, mellow, liquid, pure and endowed with passionate tenderness, the only pupil of Rossini; Theresa Tietiens, with her mighty dramatic soprano, whose tones were softer than velvet, and her noble acting; Marie Piccolomini, a winning mezzo-soprano; Parepa Rosa, with her sweet, strong voice and imposing stage presence; Pescha Leutner, the star of 1856; Louisa Pyne, the English Sontag; Parodi, pupil of Pasta; Etelka Gerster, whose beautiful soprano could fascinate if it could not awe; Pauline Lucca, whose originality, artistic temperament and intelligence placed her in the front rank of dramatic sopranos, and many others.
Some moments elapsed before Rita could grasp the meaning of the girl's words. "Sir Lucien Pyne has rung up, Madam, and wishes to speak to you." Sir Lucien! Sir Lucien had come back? Rita experienced a swift return of feverish energy. Half dressed as she was, and without pausing to take a wrap, she ran out to the telephone.
Now, as the one-eyed Chinaman resumed his seat and the one-eyed raven sank into slumber, Pyne suddenly spoke in Chinese, a tongue which he understood as it is understood by few Englishmen; that strange, sibilant speech which is alien from all Western conceptions of oral intercourse as the Chinese institutions and ideals are alien from those of the rest of the civilized world.
Monte Irvin, his features a distressing ashen color, spoke. "That you, Gray?" Quentin Gray would not have recognized the voice. "Thanks for offering your help. God knows I need all I can get. You were with Rita tonight. What happened? Where is she?" "Heaven knows where she is!" cried Gray. "I left her here with Pyne shortly after seven o'clock."
Of all the English artists of that day with whom I became acquainted, Pyne impressed me as by a considerable measure the broadest thinker, and, except Turner in his water-color, the ablest landscape painter; old John Linnell in this respect standing nearest him in technical power, with a more complete devotion to nature and her sentiment.
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