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Updated: May 16, 2025
Having put all necessary questions, and received all suitable answers, respecting the state of the neighbourhood, and such of her own friends as continued to reside there, the conversation began rather to flag, until Deborah found the art of again re-newing its interest, by communicating to her friends the dismal intelligence that they must soon look for deadly bad news from the Castle; for that her present master, Major Bridgenorth, had been summoned, by some great people from London, to assist in taking her old master, Sir Geoffrey; and that all Master Bridgenorth's servants, and several other persons whom she named, friends and adherents of the same interest, had assembled a force to surprise the Castle; and that as Sir Geoffrey was now so old, and gouty withal, it could not be expected he should make the defence he was wont; and then he was known to be so stout-hearted, that it was not to be supposed that he would yield up without stroke of sword; and then if he was killed, as he was like to be, amongst them that liked never a bone of his body, and now had him at their mercy, why, in that case, she, Dame Deborah, would look upon Lady Peveril as little better than a dead woman; and undoubtedly there would be a general mourning through all that country, where they had such great kin; and silks were likely to rise on it, as Master Lutestring, the mercer of Chesterfield, was like to feel in his purse bottom.
And so he did, walking doggedly through the storm, with his head bent and his hands in his pockets, forgetful of Miss Deborah's thoughtfulness in the way of rubbers, and only anxious to avoid any kindly interruption from his aunts, which their anxiety concerning damp clothes might occasion. But he could not escape them. Miss Deborah met him at the door with a worried face.
In her best days Seyavi was most like Deborah, deep bosomed, broad in the hips, quick in counsel, slow of speech, esteemed of her people. This was that Seyavi who reared a man by her own hand, her own wit, and none other.
He can lie down or he can stand. He's always in pain, it never stops. I learned that from the doctor I took him to see. But whenever you ask him how he feels you get the same answer always: 'Fine, thank you. He's a fighter, is John." "He looks it. I'd like to help that boy " "All right you can help him," Deborah said. "You'll find him quite a tonic." "A what?" "A tonic," she repeated.
The runaway Ben had a downy beard all over his face, and as he took his three loaves and walked up Market Street, with a loaf under each arm, munching on the third, he was smiled upon in merry mirth by the buxom Deborah Read, as she stood in the doorway of her father's house.
Bart, attend to your business and don't open them long ears of yours too wide. I won't have a listening husband, I can tell you. This way, sir. Mind the steps." By this time Deborah had convoyed Paul to a dark corner behind the counter and jerked back a trap door. Here he saw a flight of wooden steps which led downwards into darkness.
The fact that her mother did not speak of the bonnet only made Betty the more repentant. She and Ruth had both resolved that they would not again take for granted that they could use other people's property without permission. "Aunt Deborah is going home to Barren Hill to-morrow," said Ruth, as she and Winifred came near home; "Farmer Withal is to call for her.
"You may be right, Deborah. I must say the will sounded all right." "Maybe it was copied from the mistress' will." This conversation took place in one corner of the room. It ceased as Mr. Ferret advanced toward the disinherited boy. "Frank," said he, in a tone of sympathy, "I am very sorry for the provisions of the will." "So am I, sir," answered our hero. "It isn't pleasant to be dependent on Mr.
"It's some time since you've been to see me, John," Deborah continued. "I know it is," he answered. And then with a quick jerk of his head, "He's been pretty bad," he said. Roger looked at the man on the bed. With his thin waxen features drawn, the man was gasping for each breath. "What's the matter?" Roger whispered. "Lungs," said the young woman harshly. "You needn't bother to speak so low.
"I want to show you a ring," said Aunt Deborah, abruptly. "Tell me what it's worth." She produced the ring which the false Ferdinand had intrusted to her. The jeweller scanned it closely. "It's a good imitation of a diamond ring," he said. "Imitation!" gasped Deborah. "Yes; you didn't think it was genuine?" "What's it worth?" "The value of the gold. That appears to be genuine.
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