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I am quite the surgeon. But I'll do it Arthur Clarges, see that you do do it, by all you hold dear and sacred in old England!" On his return, however, to the hotel, he found that his cousin was clearly wide-awake again. "Hang it all!" he said to himself, "why isn't he asleep?" But the Hon. Bovyne was not in the least sleepy.
Once the sun came out and lit up the cold, gray scene. "Pull up, Johnny," said the Hon. Bovyne, "I want to see this. Why, its immense, this is! Arthur, how's your arm?" But Clarges was evidently struck with something. "I say, over there, is where we were yesterday, Bovey, I can imagine I see the very spot, cannon and all." "Just as then you imagined you saw a couple of trees here, eh?
The Honourable Bovyne Vaxine Vyrus refused to be vaccinated. Stoutly, firmly and persistently refused to be vaccinated. "It's deuced cool!" he said, to his cousin Clarges, of Clarges St. Mayfair, a fair, slight fellow, with a tiny yellow moustache.
Do you think it's any livelier now?" "My boy," said the Hon. Bovyne, solemnly, "You are right, it is a nocturne and a wonderful one. I'm not given to expressing myself poetically as you know, so I shall content myself with saying that its immense, and now will you pass the whiskey? I certainly feel shaky to-night, but I shall sleep out here all the same. What are you going to do?"
That isn't very lucid, but you see what I mean can't you? They make a sort of of lyre shape." The Hon. Bovyne shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out over the river and distant hills. "I see a line of trees, feathery trees, you aptly call them my dear Arthur, but I can't make out your particular two. How is it possible, at such a distance, to see anything like a lyre of all things?
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