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Updated: June 30, 2025
Part of that grave-rock celebration was because she 'lowed it bothered you. I couldn't help hearin' the talk last night. You both spoke louder than you thought, an' the wind was blowin' my way.
"Now, what do you mean?" demanded the captain, losing patience. "Just what I'm sayin' of thar's a furriner sittin' on the dock watchin' everything that goes over the side. Looks like a Rooshan Finn to me. What sort of a charter we got, cap'n? This ain't no blockade-runnin' game, is it? You got orders for Port Arthur? If you have, I'm out I don't want no Japs blowin' me up unless I'm paid for it."
"A can understand Moses smitin' the rocks for a spring; and such a wind as we had to-day blowin' the Red Sea dry," observed the old man dreamily. "I guess if you get any miracle down to close quarters, you'll sort it out all right without busting common sense," returned Wayland. He wasn't thinking of the day's hardships.
We hain't got a minit to spare; you must shell the corn and winner the grain at night, and clean all up slick, or I guess we'll fall astarn as sure as the Lord made Moses. If he didn't keep us all at it, a-drivin' away full chisel, the whole blessed time, it's a pity. There was no 'blowin' time' there, you may depend.
Blow the fog away? This wind? Why, this wind brings the fog. The sou-wester is the one wind that seafarin men dread in the Bay of Fundy. About the wust kine of a storm is that thar very identical wind blowin in these here very identical waters." Captain Corbet's words were confirmed by the appearance of sea and sky. Outside was the very blackness of darkness. Nothing whatever was visible.
"Then I'm thinkin' they'll have to do a lot of protectin'," said Long Jim. "The wind is blowin' plum' horizontal, an' the rain is sweepin' 'long in sheets." Henry, despite his consoling words, was very anxious.
I don't know's you can blame 'em; young ones are made that way, I guess but she comes home to me cryin', and it's 'O Uncle Cy, he AIN'T my truly father, is he? and 'You won't let him take me away from you, will you? till it seems as if I should fly out of the window. The poor little thing! And that puffed-up humbug Atkins blowin' about his Christianity and all!
I tuk the bottle an' the next minut I was out av the dhark av the pillar, the pink linin' wrapped round me most graceful, the music thunderin' like kettledrums, an' a could draft blowin' round my bare legs. By this hand that did ut, I was Khrishna tootlin' on the flute the god that the rig'mental chaplain talks about. A sweet sight I must ha' looked.
"There is cigar-holes burned into the carpet," insisted Mrs. Greeve, "and a mercy we wasn't all insinuated in our beds, one window-pane broken and the gas a blue an' whistlin' streak with the curtains blowin' into it an' a strange cat on to that satin dozy-do; the proof being the repugnant perfume." "All of which," said Selwyn, "Mr. Erroll will make every possible amends for.
Burnt down the day before yist'd'y aft'noon. A'n't hardly a stick of her left. Ketehed Lord knows how, from the kitchen chimney, and a high northwest wind blowin', that ca'd the sparks to the barn, and set fire to that, too. Hasses gone; couldn't get round to 'em; only three of us there, and mixed up so about the house till it was so late the critters wouldn't come out.
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