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It was past nine o'clock when he left his own house and he set out so hurriedly that he forgot to put on his overshoes. In Main Street no one was abroad but Hop Higgins the night watchman and in the whole town no one was awake but the watchman and young George Willard, who sat in the office of the Winesburg Eagle trying to write a story.
I said I wouldn't let you sleep in my barn, and I won't; but I've got a spare bed in the house, and if you choose you shall occupy it." Under the guise of roughness, this man had a kind heart. He inquired into the particulars of Paul's story, and at the conclusion terrified him by saying that he had been very foolish and ought to be sent back.
When crowded his guests, to the number of a dozen, more or less, could spread their blankets on the floor, and sleep the sleep that waits on rugged health and bounding spirits. The upper story was divided into three apartments.
"Why, they found his hat in a bog-hole upon the water, and on searching the hole itself poor Larry was fished up from the bottom of it." "Well, that's a murdhering sorrowful story," said Shane Fadh: "but you won't be after passing that on us for the wake, ainy how." "Well, you must learn patience, Shane," said the narrator, "for you know patience is a virtue."
They were nine men in all, the sole survivors, as they believed themselves to be, of the crew and passengers of the 'Forfarshire, which was then lying a total wreck on Longstone, one of the outermost of the Farne Islands. It was a wretched story they had to tell of lives thrown away through carelessness and negligence, unredeemed, as far as their story went, by any heroism or unselfish courage.
It had lost its peculiar significance as an involuntary expression of worship, and had become liable to all the accidents and contingencies that attend the efforts of a merely human ambition. The whole story is an architectural version of the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican who went down to the temple to pray.
As she heard him clatter down the stairs, Miss Stella Donovan of the New York Star knew that her visit would not be in vain. The miner waited, leaning against the desk. His eyes had followed the slender figure moving after the rotund Timmons up the uncarpeted stairs until it had vanished amid the shadows of the second story.
According to his story it had been a present from his superior officer, and it had served him ever since. He filled the pipe, struck a match, and was enveloped in smoke. You ask me whether I remember everything he began from behind the smoke. Why, I see it all as if it had happened yesterday. I do not know exactly how old I was then.
He read on and on.... The village listened too, the little shadowy street, the familiar pine woods, the troubled Pension, each, as its image was evoked in the story, knew its soul discovered, and stirred in its sleep towards the little room to hear.
As he spoke, Fanny built up a perfect romance in three volumes love faithlessness splendid marriage at St. George's, Hanover-square broken-hearted maid and Sam Huxter was not the hero of that story poor Sam, who by this time had got out an exceedingly rank Cuba cigar, and was smoking it under Fanny's little nose.
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