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Smeer does not approve of the race track, of course?" "No, he does not. He is absurdly 'narrow' on some subjects, and 'sport' of all sorts is one of them. But, beyond that, he is a dear, lovable old fellow, of whom I am amazingly fond." "Hum-m-m! And Lady Wilding and Mr. Sharpless do they, too, disapprove of racing?" "Quite to the contrary.
Smeer does not approve of the race track, of course?" "No, he does not. He is absurdly 'narrow' on some subjects, and 'sport' of all sorts is one of them. But, beyond that, he is a dear, lovable, old fellow, of whom I am amazingly fond." "Hum-m-m! And Lady Wilding and Mr. Sharpless, do they, too, disapprove of racing?" "Quite to the contrary.
Ambrose Smeer any more than he fancied the trainer, Logan. But to return to the present. By this time the late-falling twilight of May had begun to close in, and presently as the day was now done and the night approaching Logan led in Black Riot from the paddock, followed by a slim, sallow-featured, small-moustached man, bearing a shotgun, and dressed in gray tweeds.
"Dios! what is it? What has happened?" cried Lady Wilding as she came hurrying in, followed closely by Sharpless and the Rev. Ambrose Smeer. Then, catching sight of Logan's body, she gave a little scream and covered her eyes. "The trainer, Andrew, the trainer now!" she went on half hysterically. "Another death another! Surely they have got the wretch at last?" "The mare! The mare, Henry!
There's not a servant connected with the hall that hasn't been in my service for years, and all are loyal to me." "May I ask who else is in the house besides the servants?" "My wife, Lady Wilding, for one; her cousin, Mr. Sharpless, who is on a visit to us, for another; and for a third, my uncle, the Rev. Ambrose Smeer, the famous revivalist." "Mr.
Ambrose Smeer had come down to the hall in the effort to make peace. And he learned something else that night which gave him food for deep reflection: the Rev.
"Dios! what is it? What has happened?" cried Lady Wilding, as she came hurrying in, followed closely by Sharpless and the Rev. Ambrose Smeer. Then, catching sight of Logan's body, she gave a little scream and covered her eyes. "The trainer, Andrew, the trainer now!" she went on half hysterically. "Another death another! Surely they have got the wretch at last?" "The mare! The mare, Henry!
And in this chapter it was, headed, "Smeer," or "Fat," that I found a long detailed list of the outfits for the larders and cellars of 180 sail of Dutch whalemen; from which list, as translated by Dr. Snodhead, I transcribe the following: 0084400,000 lbs. of beef. 60,000 lbs.
And in this chapter it was, headed, "Smeer," or "Fat," that I found a long detailed list of the outfits for the larders and cellars of 180 sail of Dutch whalemen; from which list, as translated by Dr. Snodhead, I transcribe the following: 400,000 lbs. of beef. 60,000 lbs.
The doors were all locked; no grille is missing from any window; no one is in the loft; no one in any of the stalls; no one in any crook or corner of the place." "Send for the constable the justice of the peace anybody!" chimed in the Rev. Ambrose Smeer at this. "Henry, will you never be warned, never take these awful lessons to heart? This sinful practice of racing horses for money "
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