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I'll shift off now, Sime." Sime nodded, staring from the open window. As Cairn was about to close the outer door: "Cairn," cried Sime, "since you are now a man of letters and leisure, you might drop in and borrow Wilson's brains for me." "All right," shouted Cairn.
Sime took the marking pencil from behind his ear and proceeded to scratch his head with its point. Mr. Bernstine watched him anxiously. But when the shipping clerk pulled open the drawer once more, the employer's face lighted up. "Ah!" said he to Pendleton. "The books! Now we'll have it."
Sime saw the faint phosphorescent reflection against the stone where the stairway curved. He did not wait to see the tiny pellet of the atomic bomb floating up, but threw himself flat on the roof, tugging at Tolto, who understood and followed suit. Even lying prone, and below the edge of the explosion cone, they were nearly blown off the roof.
"Well," continued Sime, in his deliberate fashion, "when we struck our camp beside the Pyramid of Méydûm, Ali Mohammed remained behind with a gang of workmen to finish off some comparatively unimportant work. He is an unemotional person. Fear is alien to his composition; it has no meaning for him.
"Do you realize that you're levying a private war and breaking every law of the land?" "Hoots!" said Dickson. "I don't care a docken about the law. I'm for seeing this job through. What force can you produce?" "Only cripples, I'm afraid. There's Sime, my butler. He was a Fusilier Jock and, as you saw, has lost an arm.
Drunken Bet says if she could get 'old 'f it an' believe it sime as Jinny Montaubyn does it'd be as cheerin' as drink an' last longer." "Is it a kind of religion?" Dart asked, having a vague memory of rumors of fantastic new theories and half-born beliefs which had seemed to him weird visions floating through fagged brains wearied by old doubts and arguments and failures.
I 'aven't got any father, no more'n you 'ave, so I can feel fur you. Your ma 'as to do typewritin'. Mine does charrin'. It's much the sime thing." "Is it?" asked Rosemary. "Angel doesn't like typewriting so very well. It makes her shoulder ache, but it isn't that she minds. It's not having enough work to do." "Bless your hinnercent 'eart, charrin' mikes you ache all over!
I hailed him, and he climbed a gate and came to me across the field. He was a cheerful youth. He nodded to the cow and hoped she had had a good night: he pronounced it "nihet." "You know the cow?" I said. "Well," he explained, "we don't precisely move in the sime set. Sort o' business relytionship more like if you understand me?" Something about this boy was worrying me.
The wind was shaking the windows, and whistling about the building with demoniacal fury as if seeking admission; the band played a popular waltz; and in and out of the open doors came and went groups representative of many ages and many nationalities. "Ferrara," began Sime slowly, "was always a detestable man, with his sleek black hair, and ivory face.
I'm not speaking now of the monstrosities, the outrages; I mean views, and girls particularly girls. Well, standing on a queer little easel right under the lamp was a fine picture of Apollo, the swan, lord of the backwater." Sime stared dully through the smoke haze. "It gave me a sort of shock," continued Cairn. "It made me think, harder than ever, of the thing he had thrown in the fire.
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