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Updated: June 10, 2025
She was not a handsome woman, and she had a thin nose, and a narrow mouth, and very pale blue eyes; but she was all one smile of welcome as she stood in that doorway. "Mrs. Myers?" said Ford, with an extraordinary bow. "We arrived on the morning train. I am Mr. Foster." And then, with a half turn to the right, he continued, "Mrs. Myers Mr. Richard Lee, Mr. Dabney Kinzer, Mr. Francis Harley.
Once or twice in the course of the sail, Dabney found himself on the point of saying something about boarding-schools; but each time his friend broke away to the discussion of other topics, such as blue-fish, porpoises, crabs, or the sailing qualities of "The Swallow," and Dab dimly felt that it would be better to wait until another time. So he waited.
Also get me a half dozen bottles of dynamite to blow out that Italian garden. I never did like it." "Yes'm," answered Dabney, meekly but comprehendingly, for he hastily flung a napkin over the ice and gently set the decanter back in its rack. "But dynamite, it comes in sticks and not in bottles. And it would shake the roots of them old poplars clean most down to hell."
He reflected annoyedly that he'd have to ask Jones to make a special Dabney field communication field as strong as was necessary to take care of the situation. The rockets growled and roared outside. The ship lifted. Johnny Simms came storming up from below. "My trophy!" he cried indignantly. "I want my trophy!" Cochrane looked up impatiently from the screen. "What trophy?"
They've sent Foxy into cover." The Sergeant was waist-deep in crackling, swaying furze, his ears filled with the noise of his own progress. The boys reached the shelter of the wood and looked down through a belt of hollies. "Hellish noise!" said Stalky, critically. "'Don't think Colonel Dabney will like it. I move we go into the Lodge and get something to eat. We might as well see the fun out."
There were reservation-desks, and freight-routing desks, and tourist-agency desks ... "Hmmm," said Cochrane suddenly. "D'you know, I haven't heard of Dabney in months! What happened to him?" "Dabney?" said Babs. She beamed. Women in the terminal saw the clothes she was wearing. They did not recognize her Cochrane had kept her off the air but they envied her. She felt very nice indeed. "Dabney?
The Major's face had been growing redder, and he choked in sheer poverty of speech. Moreover, Tom had come between; had taken Ardea in his arms protectingly and was fronting the firebrand Dabney like a man. "That's enough, Major," he said definitely. "You mustn't say things you'll be sorry for after you cool down a bit. Miss Ardea is like the king: she can do no wrong."
Dabney did not reopen the cash-book the wretched day, indeed, had been practically a blank in its history but loitered about in the waning light among the shelves near the desk, altering the position of books here and there, and glancing cursorily through others. Once or twice she went to the door and looked out upon the rain-soaked street.
I ricollect his duel with Dabney." "He was to have fought a man named Anderson Green," replied the Major, "but a compromise was effected." "Yes," said Parker, "Green's the man I was tryin' to think of. It was Shelton that fought Dabney." "Shelton fought Whitesides," said the Major. The men began to titter, "Well, then, who was it fought Dabney?" "Never heard of Dabney," the Major answered.
"If I'd had any idea it would turn cold so fast, I should have had the carriage come for us." "Indeed, my dear Miss Dabney, if you could walk to church, I'm sure I can walk home with you," was the ready response; nevertheless, the rather fragile-looking young man shuddered a little in sympathy with the rawness of the wind.
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