Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 11, 2025
They have their madnesses a bit different, the same as boozers has their d.t.'s different; but, takin' it by the lump, it's pretty much all the same. The difference is accordin' to their natures when they're sane. All men are " "But about young Mrs Brassington," I interrupted. "Young Mrs Brassington? Rosy Webb she was, daughter of Webb the squatter.
Old Mrs Brassington was bedridden, an' they kep' it from her." "And about young Brassington?" "About young Brassington? He took a swag an' wandered through the bush. We've had him at our place several times all these years, but he always wandered off again. My old woman tried everything with him, but it was all no use.
Young Brassington himself had a big sheep-run round there. The railway wasn't thought of in those days, or if it was, no Brassington could have dreamed that the line could have been brought to Solong in any other direction than through the property of the "Big Brassingtons," as they were called. Well, the young couple went to Sydney, but whether they went farther the old residents did not know.
"Everything was done, but it was no use. She died in a year in a 'sylum." "How do you know that?" "How do I know that?" he repeated in a tone of contempt. "How do I know that? Well, I'll tell you how. My old wife was in service at Brassington's station at the time the oldest servant an' young Brassington wired to her from Sydney to come and help him in his trouble.
Some on 'em might be in the same hell as Brassington for all I know. The Brassingtons kept the secret because I suppose they reckoned it didn't matter much. Nothing matters much in this world "
She then went back into her house, and almost directly after heard two shots, followed by another scream, but no sound as of any scuffling. Another witness was a labourer named Brassington. He was a stranger to Peace, but stated that about eight o'clock on the night of the murder a man came up to him outside the Banner Cross Hotel, a few yards from Dyson's house.
"He is, or rather he was, young Brassington." "You've hit it!" said the publican. "I know and a few others." "And do you know what became of his wife?" I asked. "I do," said the shanty-keeper, who had a generous supply of whisky with him, and seemed to have begun to fill himself up for the trip. That was one yarn." "Was it?" I said. "Yes," said the publican. "That yarn was a lie."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking