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Updated: May 25, 2025
He's been 'round the world and speaks furrin language like a natif. That suit of clo's was made for him, an' he's got thirty others, all better 'n this one. Shoes, too! Made special, in New York. Forty dollars a pair!" "What's he doin' here if he's so rich?" It was the doubting female of the species speaking. "Drummers is terrible liars." Buddy flew to the defense of his hero.
"Dem's my sentiments," cried Dolf, "and I knows fair Miss Clorinda 'grees wid dem she coincidates, if yer'll 'scuse the leetle bit ob dictionery." Victoria made a grimace behind Clo's back, but said, graciously: "I'se gwine ter gib yer dat ar blue handkercher Miss Elsie gub me, Clo," she said, "so now let's make up and be comfoble."
It couldn't 'a' be'n Jeff, fer he wuz at Belleview wid you; an' it couldn't 'a' be'n Billy, fer he wuz too little ter wear my clo's; an' it couldn't 'a' be'n Sally, fer she's a 'oman. It's a myst'ry ter me, suh!" "Have you no enemies? Is there any one in Wellington whom you imagine would like to do you an injury?" "Not a livin' soul dat I knows of, suh.
"I'd willin' pay for two suits of clo's to have the satisfaction of givin' ye yer desarvins, though I don't know as ye've got 'em yet. Git!"
"That's your sort, Phil a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together," cried Dick Barnes, hurrying forward, with a bundle of garments in his arms. "Here's dry clo's for him." "Have a care, Phil," shouted Gurney, who stood behind Glynn and held him by the shoulders; "it'll give way." "Niver a taste," replied the reckless Irishman.
"Booby, dear, Olga doesn't know Stephen's dead." Clo's blood rushed to her brain. She felt faint. Had she been on her feet she would have fallen. This was the one thing of all for Beverley. Clo felt that she hated this cruel Cheffinsky with an almost murderous hatred. How could she let Beverley know, and make her understand that "Stephen" was dead.
O'Reilly, you don't look the sort of cruel pig I thought you would be. If you dreamed what Mrs. Sands is going through you'd give her back the papers. Don't pretend not to know what I mean." "I won't pretend anything," O'Reilly said. But no mouse, no mastodon could induce me to hand them over to your friend." Clo's eyes travelled over his person.
I've a right to know," he said sharply. "I'm a friend of Miss Riley." Ellen grabbed at the door of her taxi. The man was about thirty or thirty-two, she thought, certainly a gentleman and rather handsome. "I'm acting for Miss Riley," she returned as sharply. "My name's Blackburne. Clo's in a hurry for me to do an errand.
Clo, this is the most terrible day except one in my life. I must find the pearls or Roger will never forgive me. And only a few minutes ago they were nothing, compared with the papers!" Clo's wits, drowned in horror for an instant, came to the surface again. "What if O'Reilly took the pearls for revenge!" she blurted out. "Did he know was he anywhere near them?"
"'Now, Solomon, I doan want you ter say a wo'd ter nobody 'bout meetin' me heah, but I wants you ter slip up ter de house, en fetch me some clo's en some shoes, I fergot ter tell you dat a man rob' me back yander on de road en swap' clo's wid me widout axin' me whuther er no, but you neenter say nuffin 'bout dat, nuther.
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