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His body resembled a hogshead, his mouth an oven, and his lips we dare not say what. He was known in the town by the name of Patapouf. They dug out a fresh lump for him from the middle of the tart. It quickly vanished in his vast interior, and he retired with great dignity, proud to maintain the honour of his name and the glory of the Greedy Kingdom.
"Well, come along there's a cellar full of cider in this house here. I've left a man in charge to see there's no hanky-panky. I'm giving my men some, but under surveillance. No one allowed more than a pint." It was the coolest, best-tasting cider I have ever drunk, not too sweet, not too tart. A gunner tipped up the barrel and poured it into a dilapidated-looking enamelled mug. How good it was!
Morres asked. "Fish. There are plenty of trout in the upper reaches of the river." They found their lunch of cold roast beef and salad, rhubarb tart and cream, delicious. The landlord had some good old claret in his cellar and produced it as though Sir Robin were an honoured guest. They sat to the meal by an open window. There were wallflowers under the window.
"Mind!" said Julia, now inexplicably tart, "I don't mind! Why should I mind anything about him? Only " "Only?" "Oh, well, it doesn't matter! Let's all be jolly, if he's got to stay." It was one of those gay, rowdy, delightful, laughing evenings which can happen sometimes.
But these attained no remembrance nor tart reproach from that least retaliatory of men. He harbored no malice, and is said to have often placed himself on the stand-point of Davis and Lee, and accounted for their defection while he could not excuse it. He was a good reader, and took all the leading NEW YORK dailies every day.
I wonder what she has to say." "Open it and see," advised the practical Bob. "I meant to give you the letter right away, and first the tart and then the blouse thing-a-bub drove it out of my mind. I'll lead the horses and you can read as we walk. Want me to take the plate back to Lee Chang?"
Tossell answered it, bringing with her a tray of cold meats, apple tart, syllabubs, glasses, and a flagon of home-made cider. Yes, to be sure, they might have their horses saddled; but they might not go before observing Inistow's full ritual of hospitality. They ate, therefore, and talked little for a while: there would be time for talk on the long homeward ride.
By this time the sun was sunk, the stars were twinkling overhead, and the footman came and lighted the candles in the Baroness's room opposite our spies. Theo and her mother were standing together looking from their place of observation. There was a small illumination at Mrs. Brown's tart- and tea-shop, by which our friends could see one lady getting Mr.
Tart would have felt strangely upset had she known that the said coffee and egg were, on some days, his only food till tea-time; she was under the impression that he lunched at his club when not engaged to friends. Both she and Mr. Tart took immense pains with his clothes, and he would rather have been well valeted than eat luxurious luncheons every day.
It was decorated with no fewer than twenty nosegays of flowers, arranged on the dressers and mantelpiece and every available space in jugs and pots and vases of every description; while on the table were bread and butter, 'splits' spread with jam and cream, seed-cakes, currant-cakes, an apple tart covered with cream, on a plate, and the birthday cake. Oh! how good it all smelt and looked.
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