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Updated: May 10, 2025
The released prisoners were coming down the prison-yard. The Cabinet Minister cranked up his engine with an unctuous glee. He was boyishly happy because he and the Home Secretary had done them out of the Car of Victory and the thirteen white horses. The prison-gates opened. The Cabinet Minister and Drayton raised their caps. The leaders, Mrs. Blathwaite and Angela Blathwaite and Mrs.
He looked very tidy and wore the shoes we had had repaired, a pink carnation in his buttonhole, and an air of suppressed excitement. "At last," he said joyously while Tish cranked the car "at last my friends see my three mothers! They think Tufik only talks now they see! And the priest will bless my mothers on this so happy day."
A man who can arouse a diversity of opinions is at least a man of originality. I went after that man. He came with an air of mystery and a monkey wrench. He unscrewed this and whistled awhile; he unscrewed that and whistled some more. Then he screwed up both this and that and cranked her. "Phew-oo-oo-oo!" said the engine. Whereat the doctor smiled knowingly.
"Well, I'm on my way, Miguel." The old contractor shook hands with Father Dominic and Farrel, cranked his car, turned it and headed back up the San Gregorio, while Father Dominic guided Don Mike into the Mission refectory, where Father Andreas and the lay brothers sat around the dinner table, discussing a black scale which had lately appeared on their olive trees.
"Yep, a feller just came out of the hospital entry, cranked her and jumped in." "How long ago?" "Well, I just returned with a suicide actor case five minutes ago." "Then you might have seen him enter first?" "Nope. Not a sign. All I seen was the way he cranked the machine, and he didn't waste any elbow grease doin' it, either. He knew the trick.
From his safe in the office Wiley took out a roll of bills, all that was left of his vanished wealth; and he took down his rifle and belt; and then, walking softly past the body of Stiff Neck George, he cranked up his machine and started off.
Before him two arc lamps threw a bluish white light on a set representing the interior of a finely furnished room. Between the lamps were two cameras which were being cranked by two tall young men in khaki trousers and leather puttees who wore the peaks of their caps turned backward like children playing "fireman."
"You fool," he said. "You fool." She looked at him steadily, a long look that remembered, that made him remember. "There isn't time," she said. "They'll begin firing in another minute." "Damn you." But he had turned, slinking round the corner of the hood to the engine. While he cranked it up she thought of the kit that one of the men had left there in the yard.
He stood back, finally, with his hands on his hips, and stared at the engine and shook his head slowly twice. Foster, in the driver's seat, swore and tried again to start it. "Maybe if you cranked it," he suggested tentatively. "What for? The starter turns her over all right. Spark's all right too, strong and hot.
With one look at the gasoline tank to assure himself that all was well, he made fast the painter of the old Sea Rover, and even as L'Olonnois with grim determination planted the Jolly Rover above our bows, and as I tossed aboard the cargo of our former craft, Lafitte cranked her up with master hand, threw in the gear, and with a steady eye headed her for midstream, where town marshals may not come.
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