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He emptied the flask, and threw it over the bank into the burning lime, and Garotte, the old lime-burner, being half asleep, did not see or hear. The next day the two went on a long hunting expedition, and the following month Nell Barraway left for Montreal. Henri kept to his compact, drink for drink, sport for sport.
"Nell Barraway you mean her? Bosh! I'm going to marry her, Henri." "You mustn't, Fabian," said Henri, eagerly clutching Fabian's sleeve. "But I must, my Henri. She's the best-looking, wittiest girl I ever saw splendid. Never lonely with her." "Looks and brains isn't everything, Fabian." "Isn't it, though? Isn't it? Tiens, you try it!" "Not without goodness." Henri's voice weakened. "That's bosh.
"Whiskey-wine is meat and drink to me I was born on New Year's Day, old coffin-face. Whiskey-wine day, they ought to call it. Holy! the empty jars that day." Henri sighed. "That's the drink, Fabian," he said patiently. "Give up the company. I'll be better company for you than that girl, Fabian." "Girl? What the devil do you mean!" "She, Nell Barraway, was the company I meant, Fabian."
He emptied the flask, and threw it over the bank into the burning lime, and Garotte, the old lime-burner, being half asleep, did not see or hear. The next day the two went on a long hunting expedition, and the following month Nell Barraway left for Montreal. Henri kept to his compact, drink for drink, sport for sport.
And it may be that William rowed round by Burwell to Fordham and Soham, and thought of attempting the island by way of Barraway, and saw beneath him a labyrinth of islands, meres, fens, with the Ouse, now increased by the volume of the Cam, lying deep and broad between Barraway and Thetford-in-the-Isle; and saw, too, that a disaster in that labyrinth might be a destruction.
But there was a vicious strain in him somewhere, and it came out one day in a perilous fashion. There was in the hotel of the Louis Quinze an English servant from the west, called Nell Barraway. She had been in a hotel in Montreal, and it was there Fabian had seen her as she waited at table.
"Whiskey-wine is meat and drink to me I was born on New Year's Day, old coffin-face. Whiskey-wine day, they ought to call it. Holy! the empty jars that day." Henri sighed. "That's the drink, Fabian," he said patiently. "Give up the company. I'll be better company for you than that girl, Fabian." "Girl? What the devil do you mean!" "She, Nell Barraway, was the company I meant, Fabian."
But there was a vicious strain in him somewhere, and it came out one day in a perilous fashion. There was in the hotel of the Louis Quinze an English servant from the west, called Nell Barraway. She had been in a hotel in Montreal, and it was there Fabian had seen her as she waited at table.
"Nell Barraway you mean her? Bosh! I'm going to marry her, Henri." "You mustn't, Fabian," said Henri, eagerly clutching Fabian's sleeve. "But I must, my Henri. She's the best-looking, wittiest girl I ever saw splendid. Never lonely with her." "Looks and brains isn't everything, Fabian." "Isn't it, though? Isn't it? Tiens, you try it!" "Not without goodness." Henri's voice weakened. "That's bosh.
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