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Daintree began to think that everybody was going mad this morning. "My dear Marion, what on earth is the matter?" "Oh, you dear, stupid, blunder-headed old donkey!" exclaimed his wife, finishing her pas seul in front of him, and hugging him vehemently as a finale to the entertainment. "Do you mean to say that you don't see it?" "See it?

I still believe in her, and feel that she is simply a victim of circumstances beyond her control. Am I frank enough?" "Sure; it all means you intend to remain a blunder-headed fool defending a girl who does not desire any defence a Don Quixote tilting at wind-mills. That is your choice, is it?" "Unless you care to explain clearly just how Miss Natalie's interests are being protected."

Anyway, it was as plain as daylight that I had lost my time and money in bothering about Oppenstedt, and that I might as well give him up as the most incorrigible, stiff-necked, self-opinionated, blunder-headed ass and lunatic this side of Muggin.

I will, however, see if I can get the queries inserted in some Indian paper. I do not know names or addresses of any other papers. I have just ordered, but not yet received, Murray's book: Lindley used to call him a blunder-headed man. It is very doubtful whether I shall ever have strength to publish the latter part of my materials.

You'd have every girl wear tails to her gowns, and duck and dodge behind fans and faint every time she jabbed her thumb with a pin!" "I can't see that a woman's place is riding bucking broncos and rampsing around. . . ." "A woman's place!" she scoffed. "Her place where a blunder-headed man puts her! How do you know what her place is?

'Well, I dare say I am. Go on! 'I've told you Morrison married us. You remember old Morrison at Trinity? 'Yes; as good and blunder-headed a fellow as ever lived. 'Well, he's taken orders; and the examination for priest's orders fatigued him so much that he got his father to give him a hundred or two for a tour on the Continent.

There was something of the same atmosphere in his letters as in those of John Hasfeldt: a frank, affectionate interest in Borrow and what affected him that it was impossible to resent. "How I wish you had given us more about yourself," he wrote to Borrow apropos of The Zincali, "instead of the extracts from those blunder-headed old Spaniards, who knew nothing about Gypsies!

"That wouldn't do, for a fact. Perhaps it would be safer to wait. I've made enough trouble for one day by my blunder-headed thoughtlessness." "Is that what you call rescuing the flag?" "Oh, rescuing!" he said slightingly. "What difference does it make what vermin like that mob do? Just for a whim, to endanger all of you." She stared at him in amaze and suspicion. But he was quite honest.