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Updated: June 13, 2025
"What the devil does this mean? Not Andree, surely not Andree! Yet I wasn't called Zoug-Zoug before that. It was Bagshot's insolent inspiration at Auvergne. Well, well!" He got up, drew over a portfolio of sketches, took out two or three, put them in a row against a divan, sat down, and looked at them half quizzically.
"Come an wid ye to y'r forage-cake, thin-an' take this to ye," added Connor slyly, as he slipped a little nickel-plated flask into Billy Bagshot's hand. "With a Woking crematory in y'r own throat. See you bloomin' furder!" answered Billy Bagshot. "I'm not drinkin' to-day," answered Connor, with a curious look in the eye that had no cast. "I'm not drinkin', you understand."
Upon which, contenting himself with one half of Bagshot's share, so that he had three parts in four of the whole, he took leave of his companion and retired to rest. The next morning when our hero waked he began to think of paying a visit to Miss Tishy Snap, a woman of great merit and of as great generosity; yet Mr.
'Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket, And say a poor buffer lies low!" "Get the jacket ready," put in a young Frenchman, sneering. The Englishman's jaw hardened, but he replied coolly "What do you know about it?" "I know enough. The Comte Ploare visits her." "How the devil does that concern my painting her?" There was iron in Bagshot's voice. "Who says you are painting her?"
At night, when Honeyman comes in, he finds on the hall-table three wax bedroom candles his own, Bagshot's, and another. As for Miss Cann, she is locked into the parlour in bed long ago, her stout little walking-shoes being on the mat at the door.
"Come an wid ye to y'r forage-cake, thin-an' take this to ye," added Connor slyly, as he slipped a little nickel-plated flask into Billy Bagshot's hand. "With a Woking crematory in y'r own throat. See you bloomin' furder!" answered Billy Bagshot. "I'm not drinkin' to-day," answered Connor, with a curious look in the eye that had no cast. "I'm not drinkin', you understand."
'Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket, And say a poor buffer lies low!" "Get the jacket ready," put in a young Frenchman, sneering. The Englishman's jaw hardened, but he replied coolly "What do you know about it?" "I know enough. The Comte Ploare visits her." "How the devil does that concern my painting her?" There was iron in Bagshot's voice. "Who says you are painting her?"
I thanked him as well as I could awkwardly enough, I daresay for his kindness, and ran away to ask Miss Bagshot's consent to the visit.
The idea of exchanging the dull monotony of Miss Bagshot's establishment for such a home as Thornleigh, with the friend I loved as dearly as a sister, was more than delightful to me, to say nothing of a salary which would enable me to buy my own clothes and leave a margin for an annual remittance to my father.
Bagshot's nice honour, for I am certain he will not bear it." "D n his honour!" quoth the enraged count; "nor can I bear being robbed; I will apply to a justice of peace." Wild replied, with great indignation, "Since you dare entertain such a suspicion against my friend, I will henceforth disclaim all acquaintance with you. Mr.
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