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Have you read any of hers?" "I don't think so. I do not know the name." "The St. Maurs are Devonshire people a very old country family, I believe. Still, when she writes about the season in London, I don't think it is very like." Another pause. "You have been in Italy, I think, Lady Alice?" recommenced Katherine. "Oh yes, often. Papa is always cruising about, you know, and we stop at places.
He was much interested in America and its chief cities, especially Boston, when he found that was Betty's native town. And one day he told them of a search he had been making for a little girl. The De la Maurs had suffered considerably under the Napoleonic régime, and had now been restored to some of their rights. There was one estate that could not be settled until they found a missing member.
Ching Po's a dirty beast, but, according to the old man he told the truth. Ching Po did want to marry her once. She wouldn't, of course, and he's just been waiting to spike her guns. When he found out she really wanted that impossible Yankee, he said he'd tell. She had hysterics. He waited for her outside the Maürs', hoping, I suppose, it would work out another way.
Mars and Jupiter The central object not only of Roman but of Italian worship generally in that epoch when the Italian stock still dwelt by itself in the peninsula was, according to all indications, the god Maurs or Mars, the killing god, preeminently regarded as the divine champion of the burgesses, hurling the spear, protecting the flock, and overthrowing the foe.
Doctor Maür was away with a patient on the other side of the island; and French Eva had been wringing her hands unintelligibly on the Maürs' porch. She Madame Maür couldn't make out what the girl wanted.
Maurs, and such-like folk, have led armies and made laws time out of mind; but those noble families would be somewhat astounded if the accounts ever came to be fairly taken to find how small their work for England has been by the side of that of the Browns. These latter, indeed, have, until the present generation, rarely been sung by poet, or chronicled by sage.
"Yes," said John, humbly. "And this is his son?" He glanced at the label on the new portmanteau. "Whose son should he be?" said Scaife. "Well, it's queer. Dukes and dukes' sons come to Harrow all the Hamiltons were here, and the FitzRoys, and the St. Maurs but the Kinlochs, as I say, have gone to Eton. It's a rum thing very. And why the deuce hasn't he turned up?"
We reached the Maürs' front porch by a circuitous route through the back garden and the house itself and paused to admire the view. Yes, we looked for Ching Po as if we were tourists and he were Niagara. "He hasn't moved yet." This was Madame Maür's triumphant whimper. Inarticulate noises somewhere near indicated that French Eva was still in sanctuary. Follet grunted.
Mars and Jupiter The central object not only of Roman but of Italian worship generally in that epoch when the Italian stock still dwelt by itself in the peninsula was, according to all indications, the god Maurs or Mars, the killing god, preeminently regarded as the divine champion of the burgesses, hurling the spear, protecting the flock, and overthrowing the foe.
I had no claim on him. He educated me, gave me a profession, and $20,000. That was very well: he was only my mother's cousin." "And the widow where is she?" "Living at his country-seat. I have never seen her. She was one of the St. Maurs, of Maryland." "Good family, and all beauties. Why don't you marry the widow?" "Why, I never thought of such a thing." "You can't think of anything better.
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