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Updated: June 5, 2025
Like the Red Indian, Paul Quincy Adams was slow of speech. A silent man with his tongue. He entered the hospital and passed down a long corridor to the cloakroom, where he left his overcoat and from there, by another corridor, he found his way to the swing-door of the lecture theatre. It wanted five minutes to the hour.
'It isn't nice for girls to go away from home, I said. 'It isn't nice for boys, either, said she. We had come to the church, its open doors and windows all aglow with light. I helped her out at the steps, and hitched my horse under the long shed. We entered together and made our way through the chattering crowd to the little cloakroom in one corner.
He boarded a surface car for the sake of sitting wedged in amongst a little crowd of people, and he entered his club, noting the number of hats and coats in the cloakroom with a queer sense of satisfaction. He no sooner made his appearance in the main room than he was greeted vociferously from half a dozen quarters.
At times he would draw back and make a strange little clacking noise down in his throat. "Ain't he funnee?" said the little girl again. The cat slunk swiftly away as the children came up. Then the tallest of the little girls swung the door of the little cloakroom wide open and they all ran in.
Ronicky Doone, submitting partly to the force and partly to the persuasion of his friend, turned reluctantly and followed him down the alley. Mark Makes a Move Passing hurriedly out of the cloakroom, a little later, Ruth met Simonds, the lieutenant of Frederic Fernand, in the passage. He was a ratfaced little man, with a furtive smile.
It was about eleven-thirty and there was four or five of 'em in the cloakroom, puffin' away languid like real clubmen, when in drifts a young lady all in pink silk and gold net and hails one of the wicked bunch. "Bobby," says she, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" "Run on now, Vee," says he. "Told you when I asked you to come that I wasn't a dancing man, y'know."
And I feel myself lucky to get the brightest girl in her class, and maybe in Oakdale High School, to come and entertain me twice a week." "Who wants to go nutting?" demanded Grace Harlowe in the basement cloakroom a few afternoons later. "We do," came a chorus of voices. "I don't," answered one. "Don't you like nutting parties, Miriam?" asked Grace. "She's too old," put in a sophomore.
Bishop's adamantine spectacles like a bullet from Bessemer armour. "Am I?" she replied uncertainly, in her semi-American accent. "Where's the ladies' cloakroom of this place?" "I'll show you," said Mr. Bishop, with no compromise. The encounter was of the smallest, but it made Mr. Prohack suspect that perhaps Mr.
But stay, there's Matilda wanting to speak to you, I believe." Tilly was making all manner of signs to attract his attention. "Good evening, doctor. Yes, I've a message. You'll find 'er in the cloakroom. She's been in there for the last half-'our or so. I think she's got the headache or something of that sort, and is waiting for you to take 'er home."
When Silas reached the cloakroom he took a glance at himself in the mirror, then putting on his overcoat and taking his hat from the attendant he came back into the hall. Pinckney and Calhoun had just strolled away into the ballroom; there was no one in the hall, and without a thought of saying good-bye to his hostess, he left the house.
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