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Updated: May 19, 2025
Mavis hastily assented; she was about to ask for Miss Meakin's address, but Miss Nippett was too quick for her. "D'ye think he'll win?" "Who?" "Mr Poulter, of course. 'Aven't you 'eard?" "Tell me." "Oh, I say, you are ignorant! He's competing for the great cotillion prize competition. I thought everybody knew about it." "I think I've heard something. But could you tell me Miss Meakin's address?"
The Sergeant shouted the order over his shoulder, as if he were addressing a half-company on parade, and returned to his woes. "You 'aven't got to live in it, I says. That's what it is.
"I am," replied Joe; "I've got no opinions on anything except that I want to live a quiet life just enough beer and 'baccy, short hours, and no worry." "'If you compare that with the aspirations of Mayors you will see how sordid such a standard is," said Mr. Lavender, gravely. "Sordid it may be, sir," replied Joe; "but there's, a thing abaht it you 'aven't noticed.
"You see I was paid my wages to-night, so I could afford it, as well as to buy some coal and a candle, for the doctor said Bobby must be kept warm." "Afford it!" exclaimed Ned, in rising wrath, "how can 'ee say you can afford it w'en I 'aven't had enough grog to half screw me, an' not a brown left. Did the doctor ask a fee?" "No, father, I offered him one, but he wouldn't take it."
"Are you sure there's been no more letters?" he ses. "Sartain," I ses. "That's right," he ses; "that's right. And you 'aven't seen her walking up and down?" "No," I ses. "'Ave you been on the look-out?" he ses. "I don't suppose a nice gal like that would come and shove her 'ead in at the gate. Did you look up and down the road?" "Yes," I ses. "I've fair made my eyes ache watching for her."
Thurston's audience was somewhat inattentive. Mr. Warlock's mind was obviously elsewhere; he passed his hand through his beard, his eyes staring at the table-cloth. Mr. Thurston, noticing this, tried another topic. "What 'ave you heard, Mrs. Warlock, about the new Miss Cardinal? I 'aven't seen her yet myself." Mrs.
I 'aven't got any father, no more'n you 'ave, so I can feel fur you. Your ma 'as to do typewritin'. Mine does charrin'. It's much the sime thing." "Is it?" asked Rosemary. "Angel doesn't like typewriting so very well. It makes her shoulder ache, but it isn't that she minds. It's not having enough work to do." "Bless your hinnercent 'eart, charrin' mikes you ache all over!
"I'm sick of this ... idleness!" He spoke to a soldier in Merrion Square. "Do you like Dublin?" he said. "Oh, fine!" he answered. "We've been treated champion. I 'aven't seen much of it yet, of course," he went on. "I've been 'ere ever since I landed!" He pointed to the pavement. "But I know this bit damn well. You know," he went on, "we thought we was in France when we arrived 'ere.
"'Aven't I just bin sayin' so?" aggressively. "That's just 'ow it stands. She won't go." He ignored Nan's exclamation of dismay and renewed his investigation of the engine. "No," he said at last, straightening himself. "I cawn't get you to Paddington or anyw'ere else for the matter o' that!" He spoke with a stubborn unconcern that was simply maddening. "Then get me another taxi quick!" said Nan.
"You 'aven't 'eard anything about Mithith Thkinner, 'ave you?" he asked in a pause. "That we 'aven't!" said Mr. Witherspoon. "We 'aven't thought of 'er. We ain't thought nothing of either of you." "Ain't you been 'ome to-day?" asked Fulcher over a tankard. "If one of those brasted birds 'ave pecked 'er," began Mr. Witherspoons and left the full horror to their unaided imaginations....
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