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Updated: May 27, 2025
During the six months which the malady lasted, these heroines of charity seemed to vie with each other in the performance of the most bumbling and revolting offices, the Foundress setting the example of self-abnegation and devotedness.
Finally the clumsy things would drop off and come bumbling back home, while the Platform's own rockets flared out their mile-long flames and it headed up for emptiness. But the making of these pushpots and all the other multitudinous activities of the Shed would have no meaning if the contents of four crates in the wreckage of a burned-out plane could not be salvaged and put to use again.
Do you want to engage counsel and have your case go over? If there is a chance, I don't want to have to send a girl like you away." "Aw, you you're a poodle and a great Dane!" "Ten days," said the judge, rather wearily. The bridge officer took up the next slip from the pile of them, his voice the droning quality of a bee bumbling through sultry air: "Maizie Smith. Officer Jerry Dinwiddie."
RELIEVED of Babbitt's bumbling and the soft grunts with which his wife expressed the sympathy she was too experienced to feel and much too experienced not to show, their bedroom settled instantly into impersonality. It gave on the sleeping-porch.
But always it went forging steadily up on the strongest speed with a dependable, bumbling noise, never once faltering, though the Col di Tenda wasn't as steep a gradient as this.
As he crouched in the darkness something cold suddenly touched his face, and the next moment a clamour of excited yappings and joyful barks arose, as something warm and furry and cold and slobbery flung itself all over him. Tumbu! It could be nothing but blundering, bumbling Tumbu!
At ten o'clock next morning we met the keepers, dogs, and beaters not far from the first line of butts on the moor. There was a hot sun, and the bees were bumbling in the heather. Somehow Whitehall seemed a long way off. The number of guns had been brought up to seven by the inclusion of a neighbouring laird one Gilmerton of Nethercraigs and his son.
But I remember that the cackling hen and the bumbling bee and the laughing children seemed to get farther and farther away, the sounds becoming less and less distinct. All at once the sewing chair that sat alongside of me, with a pile of magazines on it, began to rock, and as it rocked it moved off from me.
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