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She'd cut me 'eart out, if she knowed I'd lied that lie." Dimsdale's prospects had suddenly ceased by the productive marriage of a rich uncle late in life; and then his career began. He went to Egypt at the time when men who knew things had their chance to do things.
"Behold, effendi," said one to whom Dimsdale's honesty was monstrous, "may God preserve you from harm the thing has not been known, that all men shall fare alike! It is not the will of God."
I came after him as soon as I heard. But the gentleman is still waiting, my lady. Will you see him and explain?" "Who is the gentleman?" Anne heard the question, but not as if she herself had uttered it. The voice that spoke seemed to come from an immense distance. And from equally far seemed to come Dimsdale's answer, though it reached and pierced her understanding in an instant. "It's Mr.
And this: "From Fort Kearney, west, he was feared a great deal more than the almighty." For compactness, simplicity and vigor of expression, I will "back" that sentence against anything in literature. Mr. Dimsdale's narrative is as follows.
Tom Dimsdale's mind was an intensely practical one, and although he had found the study of science an irksome matter, he was able to throw himself into business with uncommon energy and devotion. The clerks soon found that the sunburnt, athletic-looking young man intended to be anything but a sleeping partner, and both they and old Gilray respected him accordingly.
Therefore Imshi Pasha, being a wise man and a deep-dyed official who had never yet seen the triumph of the reformer and the honest Aryan, took Dimsdale's hands and said suddenly, with a sorrowful break in his voice: "Behold, my friend, to tell the whole truth as God gives it, it is time you have come. Egypt has waited for you the man who sees and knows. I have watched you for two years.
Her voice had the curious vibrant note of the Arab, and the words were in singular sympathy with Dimsdale's thoughts: "I have a journey to make, and perils are in hiding, Many moons must I travel, many foes meet; A morsel of bread my food, a goolah of water for drinking, Desert sand for my bed, the moonlight my sheet. . . . Come, my love, to the scented palms: Behold, the hour of remembrance!"
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