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Updated: May 7, 2025
Several recent cases of robbery, some of them attended by murder, had occurred within the pass; and these now occurred so forcibly to the squire, that he was half inclined to ride back to Todmorden, and engage two or three of the topers he had left at the inn to serve him as an escort as far as Burnley, but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as formed, and, casting one look at the green and woody slopes around him, struck spurs into Robin, and dashed into the gorge.
About twelve hours after the explosion Burnley detected Hope and his daughter eating, and moistening their lips with the tea and a spoonful of brandy that Hope had poured into it out of his flask to keep it from turning sour. "What, haven't you a morsel for me?" said the ruffian, in a piteous voice. Hope gave a sort of snarl of contempt, but still he flung a crust to him as he would to a dog.
"Please give me a written order to let this man go to work again in the mine." Bartley trembled and hesitated, but at last took out his pocket-book and wrote on a leaf, "Take Burnley on again. Whilst writing it his hand shook, and when it was written he would not tear it out.
The last sheets of "Man in Art" were sent off on October 20, and after acknowledging their receipt, Mr. F. Macmillan said: "With regard to the drawings on glass, I write to say that we are perfectly willing that, as you suggest, you should make a present of them to the Art School of Burnley, in Lancashire. "The same applies to the original wood-block engraved by Pierre Gusman."
At this point Robin fell, throwing both him and Nance, and when the animal rose again he was found to be so much injured that it was impossible to mount him. There was no resource but to proceed to Burnley, which was still three or four miles distant, on foot. In this dilemma, Nance volunteered to provide the squire with another steed, but he resolutely refused the offer.
Opening his paper, he read of "Femme coupée en morceaux" and "L'Affaire Svensen," and then a large heading, "Disparition de Lord Burnley." Henry started. Here was news indeed. And he had failed to get hold of it for his paper. Lord Burnley, it seemed, had been strolling alone about the city in the late afternoon; many people had seen him in the Rue de la Cité and the neighbourhood.
How often did it happen that, instead of insisting on getting his rent from a poor operative, he left some of his own money in the hand of wife or child? frequently enough in hard times, I know. He was staying at "The Jumps," and went from there to Shaw, Burnley, and Manchester; he never missed writing to me every day, either a short note or a long letter, according to his spare time.
I had an intimate friend in Burnley, and my guardian said that she regretted this intimacy, not for any harm that my friend was likely to do me, but because with my "lamentable opinions" I might corrupt his mind.
Burnley, instead of complying with the wise advice given him, tossed the liquid down his throat with a gesture, and then dashing down the spoon, said, "I'll have the rest on't if I die for it," and made a furious rush at Grace Hope. She screamed faintly, and Hope met him full in that incautious rush, and felled him like a log with a single blow.
It was plain that there was something wrong in infidelity; that its tendency was to vice and depravity; while Christianity, whether it was divine in its origin or not, was evidently the friend and benefactor of our race. In 1862, some friends of mine at Burnley, who had built a public hall there, engaged me as their lecturer.
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