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Updated: June 12, 2025


He was well into the thirties and his life's goal was still tantalizingly far before him, and he living on borrowed time. He said, "Why're you ... exception? How come you get right into the middle of it, like that time on the Panhandle Reservation. You coulda copped one there." Soligen chuckled abruptly, and as though in self-deprecation. "I did cop one there. Hospitalized three months.

He stayed during the remainder of 1516 and the first half of 1517 at Antwerp, Brussels and Ghent, often in the house of Peter Gilles. In February 1517, there came tempting offers from France. Budaeus, Cop, Étienne Poncher, Bishop of Paris, wrote to him that the king, the youthful Francis I, would present him with a generous prebend if he would come to Paris.

The younger reporter came over and took down the information as the cop and the two toughs gave it to the sergeant. Then he went back to his seat at the card table and took a minityper from his pocket. He started sending to the paper. "You ought to send that stuff direct," the card player said. "I scribble too bad," the reporter answered.

There was also the Great Cop, an embankment miles long, intended to reach "from England to Wales," but which was never finished because the quicksand swallowed up all that the workmen could pour into it.

One with another, hard they go, to see the gain of the waters, and the tribulation of Cop, and are prone to kick the day-boys out, with words of scanty compliment. With a spirited bang they close their books, and make invitation the one to the other for pipes and foreign cordials, recommending the chance of the time, and the comfort away from cold water. But, lo!

I stood there gasping stood a moment too long. For the curtains were pushed aside, and Burnett, Latimer's servant, and the cop came in. Tom didn't fight; he's no fool to waste himself. But I well, never mind about me. I caught a glimpse of a crazy white face on a boy's body in the great glass opposite and heard my own voice break into something I'd never heard before.

"These guys are just about as brainy as the average American cop I bumped into on the other side of the Big Pond." On the fourth floor we entered a large room with a billiard table and a pool table in it, where four men were busily engaged in killing time, two at each table. "Put up your cues a minute, Uncle Tooter and the rest of you, while I introduce you to Mr.

Hullo! the bustle has detached itself from the old lady, but she proceeds, unconscious. The audience shouts with glee. Finally the cop sees what has happened and screams. The amateur clowns scream, too, and one of them, in a burst of inspiration, takes off his absurd hat to the bustle, which is now left yards behind. But Pat is undismayed, turns and beckons with his hand.

This might be neutral territory, but there was no use pressing it. Gordon went down the stairs and out through the seal onto the street entrance, still in the shadows. His eyes covered the street in two quick scans. Far up, a Legal cop was passing beyond the range of the single dim light. At the other end, a pair of figures skulked along, trying the door of each house they passed.

We decided to say that we were seeking another position. "How do I look?" I asked seriously, for this was serious business to me. "I don't know whether to give you a meal ticket, or to call a cop when I look at you, Marshall," laughed Garrick.

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