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Some. Not so damn much, either, if you look at my side. Better get up the horses, Al, and you'n the boys take the trail. The kid's right. The goin's dern good, right now. Better'n what it will be." In the scuffed sand before the corral gate Tom made a small fire, with a few crumpled papers and one small book, which he tore apart and fed, leaf by leaf, to the flames.
"I'm glad I met you, Duke, and I hope you'll do well wherever you travel," he said, with such evident sincerity and good feeling that Lambert felt like he was parting from a friend. "Thanks, old feller, and the same to you." Spence went on to saddle his horse, whistling as he scuffed through the low sage. Jim sat up. "I'll make you whistle through your ribs," he snarled after him. It was Sunday.
At one o'clock the doors were opened; at one-ten the eyes of the proprietor were made glad and his heart was uplifted within him by the sight of a strange procession, drawing nearer and nearer across the scuffed turf of the Common, and heading in the direction of the red ticket wagon.
Then he understood that he was drifting free in space, in an armor. He thought it was his own until he failed to recognize the scuffed, grimy interior. Even the workshirt he was wearing wasn't the new blue one he had put on, it seemed only hours ago. It was a greasy grey. Etched into the scratched plastic of the helmet that covered his head, he saw "Archer III ser. no. 828211."
At times, felt shoes scuffed the stone floor without, and high, scolding voices rose, exchanging unfathomable courtesy with his clerks. One after another, strange figures, plump and portly in their colored robes, crossed his threshold, nodding their buttoned caps, clasping their hands hidden in voluminous sleeves.
True, the yellow-green meadowlands ahead of us were scuffed and scored minutely as though a myriad swine had rooted there for mast. The gouges of wheels and feet were at the roadside. Under the broken hedge-rows you saw a littering of weather-beaten French knapsacks and mired uniform coats, but that was all.
Sometimes, as the ravine narrowed, the close walls made the creaking of the saddle leather loud in his ears, and the puffing of the pinto, who hated work; sometimes the hoofs scuffed noisily through gravel; but usually the soft sand muffled the noise of hoofs, and there was a silence as dense as the night around Andy Lanning. Thinking back, he felt that it was all absurd and dreamlike.
Not long later, a badly battered, blackened, scuffed old spacecraft came rolling up on rocket-impulse and stopped with a billowing of rocket fumes. Hoddan threw a switch and used the landing grid field he'd used on Walden in another fashion. The ships came together with fine precision, lifeboat-tube to lifeboat-tube. He heard his grandfather swear in amazement.
Andy took it in slowly. "How much?" he asked at last. "Six-seven thousand," said Uncle William. "What!" Andy's feet scuffed a little. "'T ain't reasonable," he said feebly. "No, 't ain't reasonable." Uncle William spoke gently. "I was a good deal s'prised myself, Andy, when I found how high they come picters. Ye can't own a gre't many of 'em not at one time."
Towards night Mister Robert Robin perched on the top of his big basswood and sang his "Cherry Song," and while he was singing he heard some one coming through the woods. It was the farmer's hired man. He was going to get some of the cherry pits to plant in a box. He scuffed his feet among the leaves, and looked, and looked, but he could not find even just one cherry pit.
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