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Updated: May 24, 2025
The farmer knocked his pipe out noisily and began to refill it. "People have said that she takes after me a trifle," he remarked, shortly. "You weren't fool enough to believe that, I know," said the miller. "Why, she's no more like you than you're like a warming-pan not so much." Mr. Rose regarded his friend fixedly. "You ain't got a very nice way o' putting things, Cray," he said, mournfully.
My master turned his head, and with a polite bow said, "Yes," and commenced looking out of the window again. One of the gentlemen remarked that it was a very great deprivation to be deaf. "Yes," replied Mr. Cray, "and I shall not trouble that fellow any more." This enabled my master to breathe a little easier, and to feel that Mr. Cray was not his pursuer after all.
'Henceforth a hair shall slay you like a sword, and a breath shall bite you like an adder; weapons shall come against you out of nowhere; and you shall die many times. And with that he was swallowed once more in the wall behind; and I went out into the street." Cray paused; and Father Brown unaffectedly sat down on the lawn and began to pick daisies.
Cray an old friend of my wife's master, who dined with the family the day before, and knew my wife from childhood sitting on the same seat. The doors of the American railway carriages are at the ends. The passengers walk up the aisle, and take seats on either side; and as my master was engaged in looking out of the window, he did not see who came in. My master's first impression, after seeing Mr.
You go to Coppleswade Junction, and then it's a walk of five miles to Cray that's the name of the village, and Coppleswade's the post-town." "Perhaps," said I, "perhaps some time we'll come and see you, Pierson." Pierson smiled, but shook her head. She was at no time of a very sanguine or hopeful disposition. "It would be nice," she said, "too nice to come true, I'm afraid.
Mary Cray, in Kent, a right thigh-bone. There is a slight clue to identity in respect of this bone, since the head of it has a small patch of what is called 'eburnation' that is a sort of porcelain-like polish that occurs on the parts of bones that form a joint when the natural covering of cartilage is destroyed by disease.
Father Brown, also leaning motionless on the parapet, moved one finger for an instant into the direction of the soot-masked niggers singing on the sands. TEN The Salad of Colonel Cray FATHER BROWN was walking home from Mass on a white weird morning when the mists were slowly lifting one of those mornings when the very element of light appears as something mysterious and new.
"All cray," observed Herr Favre, smilingly. "'Cray'?" echoed Sheridan. "I don't know what you mean. 'Cray'?" "No white," said Herr Favre, with a wave of his hand toward the long rows of houses on both sides of the street. "No white lace window-curtains; all cray lace window-curtains." "Oh. I see!" Sheridan laughed indulgently. "You mean 'GRAY. No, they ain't, they're white.
At the same moment the motionless doctor in the garden came running, and bursting open a window cried: "Am I wanted? Has he been poisoned?" "Pretty near," said Brown, with the shadow of a smile; for the emetic had very suddenly taken effect. And Cray lay in a deck-chair, gasping as for life, but alive. Major Putnam had sprung up, his purple face mottled. "A crime!" he cried hoarsely.
Boys like Conyngham and Crayshaw ought to know better." Nothing, he felt, could be so likely to make the schoolroom distasteful to his daughters as this early admiration. Still he was consoled by the view they took of it. "Cray does know better, of course," said Gladys carelessly.
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