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Updated: May 22, 2025
'She saves half of it! was all she said. Borrodaile, glancing shrewdly over the further augmented gathering, asked the invariable question 'How do you account for the fact that so few women are here to show their interest in a matter that's supposed to concern them so much? Vida craned her head. 'Beside you, only one! Borrodaile's mocking voice went on.
They had scarcely greeted me when we heard a shout from the men down at the end of the slip that commanded a freer view of the river. We craned our necks and in a moment saw what it was. They had sighted the air-boat coming down the river. I turned the glass on the mechanical bird as it soared closer. Already Kennedy had made us on the platform and had begun to signal as a test.
He stood up, held by a sapling, and craned his neck to look up the river. A great flash showed the bridge again. "Must be Yankees still about here last of the rearguard we've been fighting. What they doing with the train? They must have burned the bridge themselves! Gawd!"
And when he had said this he put on a great rough cloak and ran to the room from which the song or cry proceeded, and after him ran his companion. The Two Men stood at the door behind a great mass of muleteers, who all craned forward to where, upon a dais at the end of the room, sat a Jewess who still continued for some five minutes this intense and terrible effort of the voice.
The flooring beneath the case had been cut through! All crowded forward, gazing at the black yawning cavern. A moment we hesitated, then gingerly craned our necks over the edge.
Billy ceased speaking, but still pointed an excited forefinger along the half-obliterated buffalo trail that swung up the prairie, out of the southern horizon. The two boys craned their necks, watching the coming figure, that advanced at a half-trot, half-stride. Billy was right. The man seemed to be moving on cushioned feet. Nothing could give that slow, springing swing except a moccasin.
Yes! . . . There isn't a human being I can open my soul to. . . . They are all robbers . . . traitors . . . . Oh, why did I tell you my secret? Yes . . . why? Tell me why?" At the entrance to his house, he craned forward towards Almer and, staggering, kissed him on the lips, having the old Moscow habit of kissing indiscriminately on every occasion.
"Well, Nate, I began by first being deceived myself; then, being fairly launched in deception, I went on cheating others. There never was a young Early! No man is living by that name, that we know." Nate looked dazed, and Lucy craned forward anxiously. "Who does own the Works, then?" she cried. "Can't we go on living in our pretty houses, and having the nice new ways?
"I don't pretend to be an expert on football," said he, "though I think it's a great game, but I should like to say a few words as to this question of new blood." The audience craned its neck. "Will Mr Councillor Machin kindly step up to the platform?" the Mayor suggested. And up Denry stepped. The thought in every mind was: "What's he going to do? What's he got up his sleeve this time?"
It was calmer, more reasonable now than it would be again. He arose to his feet. "Mr. Chairman," he said, distinctly. The chairman paused; Bonbright's neighbors turned to stare; men all over the hall rose and craned their necks to have a view of the interrupter. "Sit down!...Shut up!" came cries from here and there. Then other cries, angry cries. "It's Foote!... It's the boss!
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