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Updated: June 24, 2025
In this house, upon the 12th day of July in 1656, I was delivered of a daughter, named Mary; and in this month died my second daughter, Elizabeth, that I had left with my sister Boteler, at Frog-Pool, to see if that air would recover her; but she died of a hectic fever, and lies buried in the church of Foots Cray.
That fellow argues so; he's, so intrusive, and often makes such a noise that I can get no retirement for writing my poetry." "What a goose you are, Cray!" said Barbara. "I wish, though, you would speak lower." "Besides," continued Crayshaw, excusing himself to Mrs. Walker; "it's so dull being with George, he's always collecting things.
In 1683 Christopher Hodson, a London founder, re-cast the fifth and tenor bells for £120. The contract, which describes him as of St. Mary Cray, where he had probably a branch establishment, still exists, and he seems to have done the work near by, perhaps even within the precincts.
Then, as Aunt Christie was observed to be struggling with a laugh that, however long repressed, was sure to break forth at last, Barbara led her to the top of the stairs, and loudly entreated her to mind she didn't stumble, and to mind she did not touch the stair-rods, for the machine, she observed, was just ready. "The jarth are all charged now, Cray," said Johnnie, coming forward at last.
"Truth is truth, though she's my daughter," continued Mr. Rose, vaguely. "She's too good-looking. Sometimes when I've taken her up to market I've seen the folks fair turn their backs on the cattle and stare at her instead." Mr. Cray sniffed; louder, perhaps, than he had intended. "Beautiful that rose-bush smells," he remarked, as his friend turned and eyed him.
And as for vinegar, can any soldiers forget that solitary soldier, who, when the sun was darkened " Colonel Cray leaned forward a little and clutched the tablecloth. Father Brown, who was making the salad, tipped two spoonfuls of the mustard into the tumbler of water beside him; stood up and said in a new, loud and sudden voice "Drink that!"
Uncle Geoff we knew we'd see at the station, for he had sent us a letter to Cray to say he'd be there, and so he was. He looked so merry and nice we somehow were surprised. "Uncle Geoff," I said to him, "you must have enjoyed yourself very much when you were away. You look so very merry." "Yes," he said smiling, "I enjoyed my holiday very much."
And I can't make them good either we're getting into quarrelling ways already. I'm sure we'd be better with Pierson in the country." "Where does Pierson live?" asked the young lady. "At a village called Cray it's near Copple Copple I forget the name, but I've got it written down. You won't tell Uncle Geoff?" I added anxiously. "No," said Miss Goldy-hair, "not without your leave.
Among the best known are Danesbury House, Oswald Cray, Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles, The Channings, Lord Oakburn's Daughters, and The Shadow of Ashlydyat. Mrs. W. was for some years proprietor and ed. of the Argosy. Writer on natural history, s. of a surgeon, b. in London, and ed. at home and at Oxf., where he worked for some time in the anatomical museum.
"I think he has had enough of the beast," said Barbara, "for yesterday he was trying to make him jump; but the donkey and Cray could not agree about it. He would not jump, and at last he pitched Cray over his head." "Odd," said Valentine; "that seems a double contradiction to the proverb that 'great wits jump." Valentine loved to move off the scene, leaving a joke with his company.
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