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Updated: May 22, 2025
I propose to myself at once to reduce the gross number to those very seven, and gradually to fine them down to one the most promising for me and to take that." "But how will you know, sir, which is the most promising?" she asked, with her brightened eyes roving over the view. "Ah!" said Barbox Brothers with another grave smile, and considerably improving in his ease of speech. "To be sure.
Barbox Brothers stood puzzled on the bridge, passing his right hand across the lines on his forehead, which multiplied while he looked down, as if the railway Lines were getting themselves photographed on that sensitive plate. Then was heard a distant ringing of bells and blowing of whistles. Then, puppet-looking heads of men popped out of boxes in perspective, and popped in again.
You made your ghostly appearance in my life one day, and announced that its course was to be suddenly and wholly changed. You showed me which was my wearisome seat in the Galley of Barbox Brothers. I know no more of it, or of myself." "What am I like, Mr. Young Jackson?" "You are like my father, I sometimes think. You are hard enough and cold enough so to have brought up an acknowledged son.
"And so you see, sir," pursued Phoebe, "I am not the invalid you thought me, and I am very well off indeed." "You have a happy disposition," said Barbox Brothers: perhaps with a slight excusatory touch for his own disposition. "Ah! But you should know my father," she replied. "His is the happy disposition! Don't mind, sir!"
"And I know you will be careful, won't you," said Barbox Brothers, as a new fear dawned upon him, "that she don't fall out of bed?" Polly found this so highly entertaining that she was under the necessity of clutching him round the neck with both arms as he sat on his footstool picking up the cards, and rocking him to and fro, with her dimpled chin on his shoulder.
They drove to a modest suburb of the great ingenious town, and stopped at the fore-court of a small house. "Do not wake the child," said Barbox Brothers softly to the driver; "I will carry her in as she is." Greeting the light at the opened door which was held by Polly's mother, Polly's bearer passed on with mother and child in to a ground-floor room.
Her hands stopped in her work, and she looked at him with incredulous astonishment. "Yes," said Barbox Brothers, not quite easy in his chair, "from my birthday. I am, to myself, an unintelligible book with the earlier chapters all torn out, and thrown away. My childhood had no grace of childhood, my youth had no charm of youth, and what can be expected from such a lost beginning?"
And as he had then looked in the darkness, a man who had turned grey too soon, like a neglected fire: so he now looked in the sun-light, an ashier grey, like a fire which the brightness of the sun put out. The firm of Barbox Brothers had been some offshoot or irregular branch of the Public Notary and bill-broking tree.
"The seventh road? Oh!" said Barbox Brothers, rubbing his chin. "That is the road I took, you know, when I went to get your little present. That is its story. Phoebe." "Would you mind taking that road again, sir?" she asked with hesitation. "Not in the least; it is a great high-road after all."
I suppose she is sure to be inquired for soon, if she has not been already. Come along, Polly." Perfectly at ease and peace, Polly came along, but, finding the stairs rather stiff work, was carried up by Barbox Brothers.
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