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What did he care for bonds and receiverships when the happy woods were at his elbow, the wild-flowers beckoning, his bird neighbors calling? Where I had appealed to Jerry through his imagination, Carmichael used only the formulæ of matter and fact.
A merchant named William Carmichael, formerly a bailie of Edinburgh, was one of Sharp's favourites, and one of his numerous commissioners for suppressing conventicles in Fife. He was a licentious profligate, greedy of money, and capable of undertaking any job, however vile.
The lady stepped into the carriage, the driver woke up his ancient Bucephalus, and went clickety-clack down the König Strasse toward the town. To Carmichael it was less than an incident. He twirled his cane and walked toward the public gardens. Here he strolled about, watching the people, numerous but orderly, with a bright military patch here and there.
Carmichael turned on the light in the hall, and opened the front door. A tall, dark man of military aspect loomed out of the mist, and, behind him, at the curbstone, the outline of a big motorcar was dimly visible. He held out a visiting-card inscribed "Baron de Mortemer," and spoke slowly and courteously, but with a strong nasal accent and a tone of insistent domination. "You are the Dr.
Carmichael indicated that the family at Mains would almost expect something of the sort, and inquired whether there might not be a few passages requiring separate treatment at fuller length than was possible in this hurried commentary.
"Rabbi," cried Carmichael, and half kneeling, he threw one arm round the old man, "say that you forgive me. I looked for you everywhere on Monday, but you could not be found." "Did you think, John, that I . . . my will was to do you an injury or . . . vex your soul?
"Last evening Miss Kate will come down before dinner and talk about many things, and then she will say at the door, 'Donald tells me that Mister Carmichael does not believe in the Bible, and that his friend, Doctor Saunderson, has cast him off, and that he has been punished by his Bishop or somebody at Muirtown.
The Rabbi had been careful to send an abstract of his speech to Carmichael, with a letter enough to melt the heart even of a self-sufficient young clerical; and Carmichael had considered how he should bear himself at the Presbytery.
Nicholson could not repress a smile at this description of her husband, but there was something more than amusement in his brightening eyes. "Thank you, Mrs. Carmichael, I knew that would be your answer. But it is my duty to ask the others to give them their choice. There is little hope for those who remain." He could not bring himself to turn to the cowering figure upon the sofa.
If I hadn’t been so greedy I could offer him a piece, just to show him that some women folk have kind hearts, and that the whole sect ain’t like that Pink." "Boy’s favorite," as adequate compensation for shattered ideals, a broken heart, and the savings of a lifetime, seemed to Mary Carmichael inadequate compensation, but she forbore to express her sentiments.
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