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"How delightfully romantic!" cried Miss Butler. "There's a big wheel in the garret at Yonkers, and a little wheel, and a funny reel," said Hanny, who was sitting on Miss Butler's lap, "and we used to play the reel was a mill, and make believe we ground corn." "I've done many a day's spinning!" exclaimed Mrs. Underhill.
On the 15th of December, 1878, in acknowledging this letter, Butler wrote: I am sure that any tree or flower nursed by Miss Cobbe would be the very first to fade away and that her gazelles would die long before they ever came to know her well. The sight of the brass buttons on her pea-jacket would settle them out of hand.
Larry realized there was no opportunity for a beat in this matter of the disappearance of the millionaire, as the news the police get they give out indiscriminately to all papers. So he was content to get what information he needed in common with the other reporters. But he had a picture, and he doubted if all the others would get one. The butler showed the reporters in.
"Yet you are not clever, Hubbard! Not at all clever." "No, sir. I know my place," returned the butler, and Mr. Hazlewood continued with a little envy. "You must have some wonderful gift of insight which guides you straight to the inner meaning of things." "It's just common-sense, sir," said Hubbard. "But I haven't got it," cried Mr. Hazlewood. "How's that?" "You don't need it, sir.
One glance she gave, then she fell on the floor by the side of her dead mother, and flinging her arms about the form kissed the cold lips. Tarling pulled her gently away, and half-carried, half-supported her back to the gallery. A dishevelled man in shirt and trousers whom Tarling thought might be the butler was hurrying along the corridor.
His father was employed at first as a butler and then as a steward by the Colonna, married an illegitimate daughter of the family, and lived to see his granddaughter, Maria Mancini, married to the head of the house, and his son a cardinal and despot of France, and himself, after the death of his first wife, the honoured husband of Porzia Orsini, so that he was the only man in history who was married both to an Orsini and to a Colonna.
"Yes, sir, he does indeed," said Poole. "We have all orders to obey him." "I do not think I ever met Mr. Hyde?" asked Utterson. "O, dear no, sir. He never dines here," replied the butler. "Indeed we see very little of him on this side of the house; he mostly comes and goes by the laboratory." "Well, good-night, Poole." "Good-night, Mr. Utterson."
"The Bishop had been reading Mr. Samuel Butler's enchanting book Alps and Sanctuaries and determined to visit some of the places there described. We divided our time between the Italian lakes and the lower slopes of the Alps and explored many mountain sanctuaries . . . As a result of this journey the Bishop got to know Mr. S. Butler.
She reflected that he was overdue at that moment, and that the butler had orders to send him to the library as soon as he returned. "I was sorry to hear," said Dora, quite naturally, "that he had not passed his examination." Mrs. Agar glanced at her cunningly; she was always looking for second meanings in the most innocent remarks, hardly guilty of an original meaning.
Whenever I begin to feel scratchy I must make an excuse and get over to the Percivals for an hour to be soothed down. I do hope they are in to-day!" But alas! the butler announced "Not at home," in reply to Darsie's inquiry, then, seeing the blank disappointment on the young face, he added graciously: "The young ladies are out for a ride. They will probably be home about four o'clock.
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