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Updated: August 12, 2024
It belonged to some Basques who had sailed her around from California. I must say when I saw her I felt inclined to renig, for she wasn't more'n about twenty-five feet long, was open except for a little sort of cubbyhole up in the front of her, had one mast, and was pointed at both ends. However, Schwartz said she was all right.
"Come in here, Johnnie," Mavity Bence called one day, as Johnnie was passing a strange little cluttered cubbyhole under the garret stairs and out over the roof of the lean-to kitchen.
"Have you no place else to go to, beside Eden?" "I could run out to Perfection City and camp out there." "Now that's a good idea ... why not try that?" "Johnnie, had your lunch yet?" it was Dr. Percival Hammond, the managing editor, who was asking, leaning out from his cubbyhole where he sat before his desk. "No, sir!" "Come and share mine!" I said good-bye to Dr.
I was to climb over the ridge before us and search in the ravine on the other side. Schwartz was to explore up the beach to the left, and Denton to the right. Anderson said he would wait for Billy Simpson, who had overslept in the darkness of the cubbyhole, and who was now paddling ashore.
He was only half-awake when he arrived, and he didn't bother to rouse himself completely when he was shown to a cubbyhole in the officers' barracks. He went to bed, making a half-conscious note to buy himself some clothes especially fresh linen in the morning. Then he knew nothing until he was awaked in the early morning by what sounded exactly like the crack of doom.
We had moved away from our gold mine. Our home and workshop now was a cubbyhole so small that every piece of furniture in the place was in close proximity to something else. My battered desk was jam against my roommate's drawing table, and his chair backed against a bed.
Only by miraculous compression of ribs, handles, and fabrics was space contrived in the basement cubbyhole for Annie Oombrella to squeeze in.
It's going to be tricky, because they must be pretty well scared about that ship. But it's a highly desirable thing to get done!" He went to the ship's control-board and sat down before it. "Twenty minutes to break-hour," he observed. Murgatroyd peered out of his little cubbyhole. His eyes were anxious. Tormals are amiable little creatures.
They won't have normals on the planet! Everybody's got to turn para or be killed!" The grid operator looked up at the speaker. The ultimate of bitterness appeared on his face. He saw Calhoun's eyes on him and said savagely: "That's where I belong!" Murgatroyd headed straight for his cubbyhole and crawled into it. Calhoun got out a microscope.
Murgatroyd remained in his cubbyhole, his tail curled over his nose. There were comforting, unheard, easily dismissable murmurings now and again. They kept the feeling of life alive in the ship. But for such infinitesimal stirrings of sound, carefully recorded for this exact purpose, the feel of the ship would have been that of a tomb.
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