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Updated: May 23, 2025
The cloke which I left behind me at Troas with Carpus, when thou comest bring, and the books, especially the parchments. Alexander the brazier did me many ill offices: the Lord repay him according to his works: against whom be thou also on thy guard, for he hath greatly resisted our words.
Don't you like us exploring things together better than Pompeii?" George turned once more to look at the view. "Eight hundred acres go with the house the old man told me. Five farms altogether. Rocketts is one of 'em." "I like Mrs. Cloke. But what is the old house called?" George laughed. "That's one of the things you're expected to know. He never told me." The Clokes were more communicative.
Hah! said he Leticia? Sure, I shall turn to Marble at this News: I harden, and cold Damps pass through my senseless Pores. Hah, who's here? Enter Gayman wrapt in his Cloke. Gay. Bel. Death and the Devil the Bridegroom! Gay. Hah! what art thou that durst forbid me Entrance? Stand off. Bel. Gayman! Gay. My dearest Bellmour! Bel. Oh thou false Friend, thou treacherous base Deceiver! Gay.
The cloke that I left at Troas with Carpus, when thou comest, bring with thee, and the books, but especially the parchments. Alexander the coppersmith did me much evil: the Lord reward him according to his works: Of whom be thou ware also; for he hath greatly withstood our words. At my first answer no man stood with me, but all men forsook me: I pray God that it may not be laid to their charge.
She wrote widely and telegraphed far on their behalf till, armed with her letter of introduction, she drove them into that wilderness which is reached from an ash-barrel of a station called Charing Cross. They were to go to Rockett's the farm of one Cloke, in the southern counties where, she assured them, they would meet the genuine England of folklore and song.
Maybe the possessive form of address: "Mon general," "mon capitaine," helps the idea, which our men cloke in other and curter phrases. And those soldiers, like ours, had been welded for months in one furnace. As an officer said: "Half our orders now need not be given. Experience makes us think together."
We have seen in his own noble words how Sir Thomas Browne's life appeared to himself. Let us now look at how he appeared to other observing men. The Rev. John Whitefoot, the close and lifelong friend of Sir Thomas, has left us this lifelike portrait of the author of Religio Medici. He ever wore a cloke, or boots, when few others did.
"I'm due at Burnt House to see about the new well. By the way, there's a sore throat at Gale Anstey " "That's my province. Don't interfere. The Whybarne children always have sore throats. They do it for jujubes." "Keep away from Gale Anstey till I make sure, honey. Cloke ought to have told me." "These people don't tell. Haven't you learnt that yet? But I'll obey, me lord. See you later!"
She wiped her weather-worn face with a green and yellow silk handkerchief. "Yes, my lady!" Mrs. Cloke ran and returned swiftly. "Our land marches with Pardons for a mile on the south," she explained, waving the full cup, "but one has quite enough to do with one's own people without poachin'. Still, if I'd known, I'd have sent Dora, of course. Have you seen her this afternoon, Mrs. Cloke? No?
The motives that swayed the characters were beyond their comprehension; the fates that shifted them were gods they had never met; the sidelights Mrs. Cloke threw on act and incident were more amazing than anything in the record. Therefore the Chapins listened delightedly, and blessed Mrs. Shonts. "But why why why did So-and-so do so-and-so?"
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