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Updated: May 22, 2025
They looked on with dazed curiosity and some disappointment; there had been no fight to speak of no spectacle! A boy, nephew of Red Pete, got upon the rain-barrel to view the proceedings more comfortably; a tall, handsome, lazy Kentucky girl, a visiting neighbor, leaned against the doorpost, chewing gum. Only a yellow hound was actively perplexed.
It was Atkins who was speaking, and the assistant wondered who on earth he could be talking to. A glance around the doorpost showed that he was, apparently, talking to himself at least, there was no other human being to be seen. He held in his hand a battered pair of marine glasses and occasionally he peered through them. Each time he did so his soliloquy became more animated and profane.
Of all the party old Redhand alone stood still, with his bald head glistening in the last rays of the sinking sun, and his kindly face wrinkled all over with a sympathetic smile. He knew well that the young widow would soon recover, with or without the aid of water; so he smoked his pipe complacently, leaned against the doorpost, and looked on. He was right.
In the doorpost of a queer little stone house in Cologne is carved an inscription to the effect that Peter Paul Rubens was born there on June Twenty-ninth, Fifteen Hundred Seventy-seven. It is probably true that the parents of Rubens lived there, but Peter Paul was born at Siegen, under the shadow of a prison from which his father was paroled.
But it may have touched him that at that moment he was less than his companion and his virago wife. However, he only shook his head. As he did so his eye casually fell on the handsome girl by the doorpost, who was looking at him. The ringleader, too, may have been touched by his complete loneliness, for he hesitated. At the same moment he saw that the girl was looking at his friendless captive.
I would not have broken this thing to you so suddenly, if I had taken time to think." Oliver listened to Cousin Tom's half-apologetic explanations, yet he scarcely heard them, but still stood leaning against the doorpost, gaping with astonishment. Of course he had always known that there was something unusual about the Beeman, but as to who he really was he had never had an inkling.
"I would do anything under the sun for you, Nan," he said, in a low voice. Whereat she laughed again a gay, sweet laugh, and left him. Piet Cradock spent nearly the whole of that long evening leaning against a doorpost watching his wife dancing with Jerry Lister. They were the best-matched couple in the room, and, as a good many remarked, they seemed to know it.
She felt morally sure that they could not have returned without her knowing it. They usually made her so exceedingly well aware of their return. Under Mrs Climoe's onslaught of accusation she wheeled about in bewilderment, at the sound of hammering, to perceive Nicky-Nan at the end of the passage, driving a staple into his doorpost with blows of a poker. "There now!
He stood looking at the sign which swung from the doorpost, a relic of the Polish days. It bore the painted semblance of a boot. For in Poland a frontier country, as in frontier cities where many tongues are heard it is the custom to paint a picture rather than write a word.
She leaned heavily against the doorpost, shivering . . . . Holder saw Sally Grover coming down the stairs. "Take her," he said, and went out of the front door, which Sam had left open. Mr. Bentley was behind him. The driver had descended from the box and was peering into the darkness of the vehicle when he heard them, and turned.
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