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She told him of Aggie, and of the foreign clubs, and of Koenig, and of the dinner party at the Home Secretary's, and then she skipped a step and cried: "Ding, dong, dended, My tale's ended." "And was it there you met Mr. Drake again?" She replied with a nod. "Never having seen him in the meantime?" She pursed her lips and shook her head. "That's all over now, and what matter?
And she had led him a pretty chase but now . . . he was very sure of himself . . . How Little-Tweed-Suit a girl like Tweed-Suit came there upon the station platform of Estabrook is a long story; and it is not entirely hers or ours. Therefore only the briefest part, for this tale's sake, shall be set down here.
"I ken the tale and the place weel," interrupted an old Scottish woman, who, from the predominance of scarlet in her apparel, seemed to have been a follower of the camp, "I ken them weel, and the tale's as true as a bullet to its aim and a spark to powder.
It had been that, ye silly lass, instead o' the fourteenth." "Well, well, goodman, what dos't matter what verse you left off at," said his wife. "A good tale's none the worse of being told twice." "Nay, but," said Thora, "just look for fun and see what the fourteenth verse ends with." "Fun, lassie! fun!" exclaimed Carver, as though he was seriously shocked.
As to your particular version of the parable I wait to see! The tale's not through yet." A few days later, Lady Tatham received a letter, which she opened with some agitation.
Did we not say at our tale's commencement that all stories were old? Careless prodigals and anxious elders have been from the beginning: and so may love, and repentance, and forgiveness endure even till the end.
There the billy-goats got so fat they were scarce able to walk home again; and if the fat hasn't fallen off them, why they're still fat; and so: Snip, snap, snout, This tale's told out. Once on a time there was a man, who had to drive his sledge to the wood for fuel. So a Bear met him. 'Out with your horse', said the Bear, 'or I'll strike all your sheep dead by summer.
"Yes," said Felix. "Then what I've got to say is this," went on the rough, thick voice of the half-drunken man; "and the tale's true, mates. Roland Sefton, o' Riversborough, cheated me out o' all my hard earnings one hundred and nineteen pounds as I'd trusted him with, and drove me to drink.
There the Billy Goats got so fat that they were scarcely able to walk home again, and if they haven't grown thinner, why they're still fat; and so, "Snip, snap, stout. This tale's told out." Once on a time there was a King who had a daughter, and she was so lovely that her good looks were well known far and near.
But Aunt Polgrain, the house-keeper up to Constantine, saw them, an hour later, go along the road below the town-place; and Jacobs, the smith, saw them pass his forge towards Bodmin about midnight. So the tale's true enough. But since that night no man has set eyes on horse or riders.
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