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That's one more boat gone along o' leavin' port all hands drunk." "Glory be!" said Long Jack. "We'd ha' been obliged to help 'em if they was top o' water." "'Thinkin' o' that myself," said Tom Platt. "Fey! Fey!" said the cook, rolling his eyes. "He haas taken his own luck with him." "Ver' good thing, I think, to tell the Fleet when we see. Eh, wha-at?" said Manuel.
"Stop a moment," Lorand exclaimed, taking out his purse. "Let no one say that you were paid for any services you did me with other people's money." "Wha-at?" roughly grumbled Móczli. "Pay me? Am I a 'Hanák fuvaros' that someone should pay me for helping a 'juratus' to escape? That has never happened yet." With that he whipped up his horses, and drove out of the courtyard.
It was only when he said: "It's your own fault, little mother, that you weren't able to inspire your son with reverence for God and the Czar," that she answered dully, standing at the door and looking at him: "Yes, our children are our judges. They visit just punishment upon us for abandoning them on such a road." "Wha-at?" shouted the officer. "Louder!"
"Ver' good boy," said Manuel, slipping out of his boots and disappearing into the black shadows of the lower bunk. "Expec' he make good man, Danny. I no see he is any so mad as your parpa he says. Eh, wha-at?" Dan chuckled, but the chuckle ended in a snore. It was thick weather outside, with a rising wind, and the elder men stretched their watches.
Ya-h!" he yelled, and all the others joined in. The chorus was deafening. Anderson's hand on the boy's shoulder tightened. He shook him violently. The boy's cap fell off, and his shock of fair hair waved. He rolled eyes of terrified wonder at his captor. "What, wha-at? " he stammered. "You lemme be. You Wha-at?" "I'll tell you what, you big bully, you," said Anderson, sternly.
G. I meant to lie about my reasons when I began, but I've got out of the habit of lying to you, old man. Jack, you won't? But I know you won't. M. Of course not. G. Eh! Wha-at? M. Don't you know? The men have called Mrs. Gadsby the Pride of the Pink Hussars ever since she came to us. G. 'Tisn't her fault. Don't think that. It's all mine. M. What does she say?
"Wha-at wha-at!" snarled Morel, toppling in his balance. "Wha-at not for me?" He looked at the piece of meat and crust, and suddenly, in a vicious spurt of temper, flung it into the fire. Paul started to his feet. "Waste your own stuff!" he cried. "What what!" suddenly shouted Morel, jumping up and clenching his fist. "I'll show yer, yer young jockey!"
"Wha-at?" Marfinka also begged him to stay. Vera did not add her voice to the request, because she knew he would not stay; she thought sorrowfully that his manifold talents had not developed so far to give the pleasure they should do to himself and others.
For what future are you preparing yourself?" "I want to be an artist." "Wha-at?" "An artist." "The devil only knows what notions you have got into your head. Who would agree to that? Do you even know what an artist is?" Raisky made no answer.
I'd like to decide that matter before you show your heels. You, eh, default, I suppose?" "No, uncle, she does that. I do only the hopeless loving." "The wha-at? Great Lord! You don't tell me you ?" "Yes, I caved in last night; told her I loved her. Oh, I didn't do it just in this ashes-of-roses tone of voice, but" the nephew smiled the General scowled "you should have seen me, uncle.
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