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Nevertheless, over a million were secretly printed and circulated in Germany, and it was translated into every major European language. The book I refer to was known under its American title as, The Human Slaughter-House.
He asked then if we did n't have a poorhouse or a insane asylum or a slaughter-house or suthin' as he could show up in red ink. He said somebody must be doin' suthin' as they had n't ought to be doin' somewhere, an' it was both his virtue an' his business to print all about it. He says exposin' is the very life o' the newspaper business, an' you can't be nothin' nowadays without you expose.
"If only pa has not driven off!" But the senior Shrimplin had not moved from the spot where Custer had left him five minutes before. "Is that you, son?" he asked, as Custer appeared at the fence. "Come here, quick!" commanded the boy. "For what?" inquired Mr. Shrimplin. "You needn't be afraid, it's only a man who's fallen off the iron bridge. He's down in the bed of the slaughter-house run.
The horsemen were forced to take a distant way around, but now the chase was toward the town, and more men and Dogs came running out to join the fray. The Wolf turned toward the slaughter-house, a familiar resort, and the shooting ceased on account of the houses, as well as the Dogs, being so near. These were indeed now close enough to encircle him and hinder all further flight.
It was as we obeyed Tizoc's order that we saw how fierce and how bloody the fight had been; for the court-yard was red with blood, like a slaughter-house, and over the stones everywhere dead bodies were lying, all cut and gashed with ghastly wounds.
For the time, at any rate, the neat dexterity of counting and numbering machines, building machines, spinning engines, patent doorways, explosive motors, grain and water elevators, slaughter-house machines and harvesting appliances, was more fascinating to Graham than any bayadère. "We were savages," was his refrain, "we were savages.
It gave me, for the moment, an odd sense of having strayed into the world of those romancers who forecast the future; a slaughter-house of tasteful architecture, set in a grove of lemon trees and date palms, suggested the dreamy ideal of some reformer whose palate shrinks from vegetarianism. To my mind this had no place amid the landscape which spread about me.
Rather than pronounce them one should be as sheep who graze about the slaughter-house and know it not. That is better than to be called a strong spirit, and to read La Rochefoucauld. What better illustration could I present than the one I have just given? My mistress was ready to set out and I had but to say the word. Why did I delay?
"I give a blue ticket and a bladder that I got at the slaughter-house." "Where'd you get the blue ticket?" "Bought it off'n Ben Rogers two weeks ago for a hoop-stick." "Say what is dead cats good for, Huck?" "Good for? Cure warts with." "No! Is that so? I know something that's better." "I bet you don't. What is it?" "Why, spunk-water." "Spunk-water! I wouldn't give a dern for spunk-water."
My father's people are frightened, and have to be hauled out of life into death like cattle into a slaughter-house, pulled by the neck; but my mother's people are pushed from behind, inch by inch. They are stubborn people, and won't die." "Yes," said Clara. "And she won't die. She can't. Mr. Renshaw, the parson, was in the other day.
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