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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Yes, Miss Baylis," replied Sally, as she scrambled up her books and joined the girls all hurrying to their rooms. Petty lingered to glance beneath chairs and desks for the lost letter. To her dismay it had vanished completely. She never suspected that Beverly running upstairs with the others, held it safe in her history. She would return it to Petty later.
Upon the instant the release bell sounded the classes must be dismissed and each girl must hurry to her room to make herself presentable at luncheon. "Sally, you will come to me immediately after luncheon. I am deeply pained that you could be guilty of such deportment. I wish to talk seriously with you," was Miss Baylis' concluding admonition to the incorrigible one.
The best preserved diary is that of Patrick Breen, done in simple and matter-of-fact fashion throughout most of the starving winter. Thus: "Dec. 17. Pleasant; William Murphy returned from the mountain party last evening; Baylis Williams died night before last; Milton and Noah started for Donner's eight days ago; not returned yet; think they are lost in the snow. "Dec. 21.
All over the midway, the lights were going out, and the Mars Race game gave one final roar and came to a halt. The last customers were leaving. Ed looked up when he came over. Charley didn't ease into the subject; he couldn't. "Something's wrong," he said at once. "I'm off the bally, and the crowds are going down. I don't like it, Ed." Baylis shrugged. "Who would?" he said.
Consequently the occupants of Suite 10 were glad to rest their weary bodies upon couch or easy chairs when dinner was over, and Sally was entertaining them with an account of her interview with Miss Baylis after luncheon. "She makes me tired. If it had been you, Bev, she would have sent you down to Miss Woodhull's office in jig time. But I've a good one for Uncle Tom," and Sally laughed.
Ten more minutes of the period slipped by, nay, crawled by, in which Miss Baylis darting from one victim to another bent upon reaching their vulnerable points. Then it came, Electra Sanderson's turn to recite. Now Electra Sanderson was distinctly of the nouveau riche. She came from an eastern city where money is the god of things.
Ed Baylis started to tell me, but I ... well, never mind." "Charley," the old man said. "What do strong men have to do with " "Let me tell you, professor," Charley said. "People don't care about strong men any more; there are too many gadgets around. Nobody has to be a strong man; nobody wants to watch one. They're useless. See?" "Everyone can be his own strong man," the old man said.
With his dying breath he requested her to distribute the provisions she had brought to the suffering and starving American prisoners. Elias Baylis, who was old and blind, was chairman of the Jamaica Committee of Safety. He was captured and first imprisoned in the church at New Utrecht. Afterwards he was sent to the provost prison in New York.
I very well remember the day when the news came about that affair of Maitland robbing the bank. Miss Baylis, she was like a mad thing when she saw it in the paper, and before she'd seen it an hour she was off to Market Milcaster.
But in another armchair on the opposite side of the hearth was the forbidding figure of Miss Baylis, blacker, gloomier, more mysterious than ever. She neither spoke nor moved when Spargo entered: she did not even look at him. And Spargo stood staring at her until Mr. Elphick, having closed his doors, touched him on the elbow, and motioned him courteously to a seat. "Yes, I was expecting you, Mr.
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