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Updated: May 27, 2025
How far could you contrive to travel in this way?" Farmer Menhennick found a seat and sat scratching his head. "Three miles, maybe," he decided at length. "And what sort of road is this when you strike it?" "Turnpike." "Indeed? And where's the pike?" "At Cann's Gate." "That tells me nothing, I'm afraid; but we'll put the question in another form.
The Living Skeleton crouched near, embracing his lean knees, staring into the fire, thinking fondly of his absent wife and family, a furtive tear lurking in the hollow of his cheek, for Matty Cann's absurd sentimentality made him a failure as a vagabond. Nickie fussed about gallantly, assisting Madame Marve and little Miss Thunder, who were busy spreading papers for the evening meal.
And this Church of England of ours I say it with shame is full of scandals. Where do they meet to-day?" "Four-barrow Hill, your reverence." "Oh, no, they don't. On that point you really must allow me to correct you. If they meet at all, it will be at what d'ye call it? Cann's Gate." And so they did.
The two birds set up a tremendous singing and chorussing when Miss Cann, spying the occasion of the first-floor lodger's absence, begins practising her music-pieces. Such trills, roulades, and flourishes go on from the birds and the lodger! it is a wonder how any fingers can move over the jingling ivory so quickly as Miss Cann's.
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