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Updated: June 16, 2025
My dear man, can you forgive me?" and he held out his hand to Mr. Bunn, while his voice grew husky, and there was a suspicious moisture in his eye. "That's all right," responded Mr. Bunn, generously, and he seemed to have added something to his nature through his nerve-racking experience. He had been near death, or at least the possibility of it, and it had meant much to him.
"And Alice with a sprained ankle!" gasped Mrs. Maguire. "Don't worry! I'll get 'em!" declared the old salt. "Come on," he called to Mr. Bunn. "You look like you could handle an oar," and he started toward a dory that was drawn up on the beach. "I I can't row!" exclaimed the old actor. "Besides, I might " "Yes, he might spoil his dignity," said Russ fiercely in an undertone.
He had some explanation he desired to make to the Commissioner of Internal Revenue, and he came to Washington and asked Governor Oglesby, who was then in the Senate, to introduce him to the Commissioner of Internal Revenue. Oglesby knew Bunn very well, and yet he cross-examined him at great length and detail.
Then a big, puffed-up man, of a delicate brown color, stepped forward and said: "I think it would be a shame to send this child away hungry, especially as she agrees to eat whatever we can spare and not touch our people." "So do I, Pop," replied a Roll who stood near. "What, then, do you suggest, Mr. Over?" inquired Mr. Bunn. "Why, I'll let her eat my back fence, if she wants to.
"Oh, sure, I've got to get help," the hunter said. "You folks can't stay here all night, even if the wind continues to blow across the top, which makes it much better." "Indeed and I will not stay here all night!" protested Mr. Bunn. "I most strenuously object to it." "And so do I!" growled Mr. Sneed. "There is no need of it. I might have known something unpleasant would happen.
This is a very gentlemanly book. Whatever excellence of commendation belongs to the adjective we have Italicized must be awarded to Mr. Dicey. And it is ill-adapted to the manufactures of most British tourists who have preceded him. For, to make no mention of the vulgar buffooneries of Bunn or Grattan, we hold that neither the exalted and irrepressible prosiness of Dr.
Together the girls managed to get off a long piece of the stout vine, which made a most excellent substitute for a rope. "I suppose if I had thought of this first we needn't have cut our skirts," said Alice. "I'm not sorry we didn't," was her sister's reply. "Nor am I!" "Catch this, Mr. Bunn!" called Alice, as with the vine rope she went as near the bog hole as was safe. "Good idea!
When you faint, fall good and hard, Miss Pennington!" "Hurry now, Mr. Switzer; get in some of that funny business! Look funny; don't act as though this was your funeral!" "Come on there Mr. Bunn; this isn't 'Hamlet. You needn't stalk about that way. There's no grave in this!" "Hold on, there! Cut that part out. Stop the camera; that will have to be done over. There's no life in it!"
His black looks seemed to disturb nobody; Bunn, self-centred, cropped his salad complacently; the Vandyck beards wagged; another critic or two left, stern slaves to duty and paid ads. The lights bothered him; tremors crawled over and over his skin; within him a dull rage was burning a rage directed at no one thing, but which could at any moment be focussed.
Bunn could hold on to it with his hands," for she and her sister, as well as Miss Pennington and Miss Dixon, were doing nothing. "Let's go to the steamer and get one," proposed Miss Dixon. "It would be too late," declared Alice. Then, as she looked about the little clearing where the accident had taken place she saw, dangling from a tree, a long vine of some creeping plant.
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