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"Don," for he could never say "John" "oh, Don, I am so glad that nasty naughty man is gone away. Take me home, Don. Take me home." It has been said of the wicked, "not even their own children love them." And I could easily believe that Carver Doone's cold-hearted ways had scared from him even his favorite child. No man would I call truly wicked, unless his heart be cold.
The traveler clenched his fists. This delay and waste of priceless time was maddening him. "Gents," he called desperately, "I got to get to Martindale today. It's more than life or death to me. Where's Doone's hoss?" "Right across the road," said the old man who had spoken first. "Over yonder in the corral the bay."
There is no Doone's door at Plover's Barrows and if there were I could never go through it. They vexed me so much about my size, long before I had completed it, girding at me with paltry jokes whose wit was good only to stay at home, that I grew shame-faced about the matter, and feared to encounter a looking-glass. But mother was very proud, and said she never could have too much of me.
And most of the children went with their mothers, or were bound apprentices; only Carver Doone's handsome child had lost his mother and stayed with me. This boy went about with me everywhere.
And most of the children went with their mothers, or were bound apprentices; only Carver Doone's handsome child had lost his mother and stayed with me. This boy went about with me everywhere.
There is no Doone's door at Plover's Barrows and if there were I could never go through it. They vexed me so much about my size, long before I had completed it, girding at me with paltry jokes whose wit was good only to stay at home, that I grew shame-faced about the matter, and feared to encounter a looking-glass. But mother was very proud, and said she never could have too much of me.
Ronicky, old boy, one of these days I'll be able " He paused, stopped by the solemnity of Doone's face. "What's wrong, Ronicky?" "I don't know," said the other gloomily. He rubbed his arms slowly, as if to bring back the circulation to numbed limbs. "You act like you're sick, Ronicky." "I'm getting bad-luck signs, Bill. That's the short of it." "How come?" "The old scars are prickling." "Scars?
And after a day of heaven like this, like Lorna Doone's lover, ay, and like every other lover, I suppose, I go to sleep, and the roof above me swarms with angels, having Kitty under it! Benedict and aunt Celia were driving.
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