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Updated: September 17, 2025
And if the train hadn't been ten minutes late if I hadn't gone into the eating-house looking for you I would, have arrived in time to have saved poor Hennage. It was my fight, after all, and poor Harley wasn't used to firearms." They were sitting together in the patio. Donna leaned her head on his broad shoulder. She had suffered much of late.
Besides, for some days a strange idea had been in my head. I had not forgotten my friend Jane, and I wondered whether, if I went to Tottenham, it would be possible to find her. Perhaps she might be well off there, and could help me. I had made inquiries about the way to Tottenham, and the distance, and when I left the eating-house I had made up my mind to walk straight there.
"Sir," said the cook, "I am skilled in my business, and I can get four thousand Genoese to swear as much." "That doesn't say much for their good taste; but whatever they may-say, the execrable supper you gave me last night proves that you are only fit to keep a low eating-house."
"I'll make a fire in the stove," cried Dan; "then I'll go out and get you something hot to drink. You'll feel better soon." "Don't be long, Dan," she whispered faintly. "I'm scared to stay by myself." Ten minutes later Dan hurried out of the eating-house at the corner, balancing a bowl of steaming soup in one hand and a plate of food in the other.
It is that, or your great gluttony. You were beguiled into some eating-house." "Monsieur, you shall hear the exact truth. When we started more than an hour ago, our fiacre took the usual route, by the Quais and along the riverside. My gentleman made himself most pleasant" "No doubt," growled the Chief.
At seven she turned into some eating-house and dined for a shilling, and afterwards there was nothing to do than wander in the Strand.
Christophe wanted to find a less dazzling place than any of these: none of them seemed to him to be humble enough for his purse. At last in a side street he saw a dirty inn with a cheap eating-house on the ground floor. It was called Hotel de la Civilisation. A fat man in his shirt-sleeves was sitting smoking at a table: he hurried forward as he saw Christophe enter.
O'Rourke brought his gun up, swiftly, dropped it again. Mr. Hennage's left arm buckled under him suddenly and he slid forward on his face, while two more bullets from the mule-skinner's gun threw the sand in his eyes, blinding him, before ricochetting against the eating-house wall. Sam Singer, peering around the corner of the eating-house, saw the gambler pick himself up slowly.
Lamo's buildings made some pretense of aping the architecture of buildings in other towns. The eating-house was a two-story structure, with an outside stairway leading to its upper floor. It had a flat roof and an adobe chimney. Its second floor had been subdivided into lodging-rooms. Its windows were small, grimy. Not one of Lamo's buildings knew paint.
Both were flippantly arguing as to which one had got the best of the other. "I own up that I am a little bit stale, Milt. But you wait until we go out for squadron practice. I'll show you!" "Yes, you will," replied Finzer, good-naturedly caustic. "Perhaps I'll show you another trick or two then." And so the chaffing went on as the lads adjourned to the eating-house for lunch.
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