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Updated: May 23, 2025
But," it was evidently impossible for him to be seriously annoyed by anything on this particular afternoon, "all's well that ends well. We will say no more about it, Aggie. Don't cry. You can't help being a fool. But don't do anything of that kind, or of any kind again. I might not be so easy going next time." Lady Blore drank down a large cup of tea. Her black silk bosom heaved.
Why, his spy- glass will stretch out that there comet as long as Welland Lane! 'I'd as soon miss the great peep-show that comes every year to Greenhill Fair as a sight of such a immortal spectacle as this! said Amos Fry. "Immortal spectacle," where did ye get that choice mossel, Haymoss? inquired Sammy Blore.
Sir John Blore had been known to remark that he could not fathom what Aggie meant by that expression, as it certainly was not appropriate to the domestic circle at The Towers, consisting, as it did, of one rheumatic Anglo-Indian worm, and one able-bodied blackbird. "I intend to see your father after tea," repeated Aunt Mary, taking no notice of her sister's remark.
His reproductions of that talk are often intensely realistic. Nearly every book has its chorus of human grotesques whose mere names are a source of mirth. William Worm, Grandfer Cantle, 'Corp'el' Tullidge, Christopher Coney, John Upjohn, Robert Creedle, Martin Cannister, Haymoss Fry, Robert Lickpan, and Sammy Blore, men so denominated should stand for comic things, and these men do.
You observe that I only asked him to come if his feelings were unchanged. He is there now." It would be impossible to describe the varying emotions which devastated Lady Blore, as her brother made his announcement. Her hands trembled so much that she was obliged to give up any pretence of holding her cup. It chattered against its saucer. "When did you write?" she asked at last.
But old Blore ... he came waddling back to me, drunk, as usual, on his rum and sugar. "Welcome back, Johnnie ... come on, you and Frank, into my room ... we've got to celebrate your return." Frank and I set down the stove we were moving, dusted our hands off, and followed. "But I won't drink any of your rum, Ed! It's got too much of a kick." " nonsense ... good Jamaica rum never hurt nobody."
We noticed in the papers a week ago that he had succeeded his cousin." "Wait a minute, father. I have only come to my lacerated affections." "How slow you are! Your Aunt Mary does pound away. She has a touch as light as a coal-sack. The wonder to me is how she ever captured poor old Blore." "Perhaps she did it by letter. She writes uncommonly well.
They say every man for himself: but, thank God, I'm not so mean as to lessen old fokes' chances by being earnest at my time o' life, and they so much nearer the need o't. 'It's bad reasoning, Nat, I fear. Now, perhaps we had better sol-fa the tune. Eyes on your books, please. Sol-sol! fa-fa! mi 'I can't sing like that, not I! said Sammy Blore, with condemnatory astonishment.
He knew every interesting spot in the neighborhood: Salisbury Hill, where the Yorkist leader pitched his camp before the battle of Blore Heath; Audley Brow, where Audley the Lancastrian lay watching his foe; above all Styche Hall, whence a former Clive had ridden forth to battle against the king, and where his namesake, the present Robert Clive, had been born.
'Now, what's the most curious thing in this, Mr. San Cleeve, said Sammy Blore, who, in calling to inquire after Swithin's health, had imparted some of the above particulars, 'is that my lady seems not to mind being a pore woman half so much as we do at seeing her so. 'Tis a wonderful gift, Mr.
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