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"No," he said, "why is it over? Don't be worse than I was. Let us be reasonable about it! Why shouldn't we talk of it as if we were other people? Do you mean it is all over because you think I must be troubled by what you've told me, or because you can't forgive me for not letting you tell me before?" "You know which!" she said.
"During our travels my daughter has become engaged to a Mr Mark Railsford, apparently a very desirable and respectable young man. You will wonder why I trouble you about such a very domestic detail.
Indeed, when I come to reflect upon it, it also appears miraculous to me; for why should I be able to understand a language that I have never studied, spoken, or even heard before? It seems impossible, upon the face of it, doesn't it?
"Oh, please not to talk of such horrors," I said. "Why, your ramparts would go like pie crust." The Major smiled a superior smile, and after more talk we went home to dinner. From something more than mere curiosity, I waited at Bruntsea for a day or two, hoping to see that strange namesake of mine who had shown so much inhospitality.
Who's been decorating you like that? Why, what a sight they have made of your signboard! Have you seen Mishka here?" "I've not seen him this long while!" the other shouted, and hastily went back to his companions. Chelkash went on farther, greeted by everyone as a familiar figure.
When she was calmed I finished all that I had to tell, and read her the advertisements, but they seemed to frighten her. 'How dreadful if Etta or Giles should see them! she said nervously. 'Etta is so clever, she finds out everything. I would not have her read one of them for worlds. Why did you put your name, Ursula? it is so uncommon. 'No one will connect me with Jack Poynter.
"Why, I had schoolmaster to write down ailment o' nag," said Jack Hostler; "and I went wi' the ugliest slip of a boy for my guide as ever man cut out o' lime-tree root to please a child withal." "And what was it? and did it cure your nag, Jack Hostler?" was uttered and echoed by all who stood around.
Why, every time I have to report one of my men to the colonel I send for him afterward and give him a drink and apologize to him. I tell you the army doesn't mean anything to me unless there's something doing, and as there is no fighting out here I'm for the back room of the Holland House and a rubber-tired automobile. Little old New York is good enough for me!"
Why should we be kept in the kitchen tasting half-cooked stuff out of ladles, when most of us have barely time to eat our fully cooked dinner, which we like and thrive on, in peace? Similarly with such painters as are mainly precursors.
Now, where was Matthew Cuthbert going and why was he going there? Had it been any other man in Avonlea, Mrs. Rachel, deftly putting this and that together, might have given a pretty good guess as to both questions.
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