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"No need to waste another certificate," said he. The black-eyed man pulled me by the sleeve, and led me up the wharf, away from the crowd. "You didn't come on the boat with us," he said, "perhaps you're part of the Company?" "I am not!" I said, "I came here last night to look for a boat I had been cruising in. They made me stay here over night, Mr.
He wasn't sure the threads led anywhere; but Barry discouraged conversation, and the volatile ex-salesman could not exist without either talking, surmising, or planning things. So they arrived in silence at the wharf, and neither raised his head to notice their whereabouts until Little tumbled over the Barang's breast line. Then both looked up.
She had seen him at the instant, and she smiled rapidly above the crowd, one of her fleeting smiles, like a ray of April sun. Another smile, he took her bag from the porter's hand, and their meeting was over. It was not until they were seated at a table in a sheltered corner of the station restaurant that he spoke: "The Swallow is waiting at the wharf.
So he asked the watchman what had happened and he told him what had passed in the night, whereupon the merchant bade him fetch the camel-driver and said to the latter, 'Whither didst thou carry the stuffs? 'To such a wharf, answered the driver; 'and I stowed them on board such a vessel. 'Come with me thither, said the merchant.
Wait here; I'll get that cab, if it is empty, and you can take her home at once," and he darted up the wharf at a rapid pace. "Where is Hugh?" said Lancy hurriedly; "not drowned, Dexie?" "No; not that I know of," she said, choking back her tears. "Then, what does all this mean? How came you to be out with the soldier, Dexie? I don't know what to think."
To me the stretch of sky and water, with its dividing band of roof, tower and wharf, stretching from the loop of steel that spider-web of the mighty to the straight line of the sea, is a never-ending delight.
Such was the state of things on Oyster Pond for quite a week after the nephew had been to look after the effects of the deceased uncle. The schooner was now quite ready for sea, and her master began to talk of hauling off from the wharf.
A rude wharf of unbarked logs ran from the beach into the river. It had been begun and finished in a couple of days, for the convenience of Gaspard while visiting his nets, as he sometimes did before the water left them.
The sun had been trying to break through the clouds, and a few rays had crept out, and glanced on the angry gray of the water, so that it shone here and there like scratches in dull lead. The three ships near our wharf were tossing fitfully, and on all three, the crews were busy with the rigging.
She returned to the fool story that Holman had told, and I couldn't sidestep her questions. "But it is true that you were quoting Bunyan on the wharf when Mr. Holman found you, isn't it?" she asked mischievously. "No, it isn't true," I spluttered. "I only asked Mr. Holman a question to see if he was familiar with 'Pilgrim's Progress'." "Why did you ask him that?" she quizzed.
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