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Updated: June 14, 2025
'Eaven knows what we'll live on all the same, pore wurkhus ijets as me an' Bart are, not bein' able to make you an' Miss Sylvia 'appy. Miss Sylvia Krill an' Norman both," ended Deborah with emphasis, "whatever that smooth cat with the grin and the clawses may say, drat her fur a slimy tabby yah!" "I see you know all," said Paul, as soon as he could slip in a word.
It worked the kind o' miracle, for one of the Corporal's stiffened eyelids quivered and came down halfway, and the martial spirit of its owner flickered up long enough for W. Keyse to sputter out: "Cripps, it's 'Er! Am I dead an' got to 'Eaven on somebody else's pass?" "Born to be hung, I should say," commented the R.A.M.C. man aside to his mate.
That's the way the will is done in 'eaven. That's wot I arst for all day long for it to be done on earth as it is in 'eaven. What could I say? Could I tell her that the will of the Deity on the earth he created was only the will to do evil to give pain to crush the creature made in His own image.
'Eart of gold, though none in her pocket by means of that Old Bailey woman as is a good match fur my Old Bailey master. Ho! he wos a bad 'un, and 'ow Miss Sylvia ever come to 'ave sich a par beats me. But I thank 'eaven the cat ain't my pretty's mar, though she do 'ave a daughter of her own, the painted, stuck-up parcel of bad bargains." Paul nodded.
When things went wrong for a day and the fire was out again and the room dark, she said, 'I 'aven't kept near enough I 'aven't trusted TRUE. It will be gave me soon, and when once at such a time I said to her, 'We must learn to say, Thy will be done, she smiled up at me like a happy baby and answered: "'Thy will be done on earth AS IT IS IN 'EAVEN. Lor', there's no cold there, nor no 'unger nor no cryin' nor pain.
"Give we a yard o' tripe an' a scoopful iv mashed potatoos." "You aren't cut out for a public career. Matty you ought to abandon Living Skeletons and get a good eating part." "Wish t' 'eaven I could, but there's ther missus an' ther kids t' think of." "Well, you can turn your head away when the banquet scene's on." "What if I do; can't I smell it?"
Ontario frowned and expressed an opinion that all elections should be made absolutely free to the candidates. "And everybody ought to go to 'eaven, Mr. Moggs," said the leading member of the deputation, "but everybody don't, 'cause things ain't as they ought to be." There was no answer to be made to this. Ontario could only strike his forehead and think.
An old woman, whom I asked, said, 'Do I know Mister 'Olworthy? A blissed saint in the flesh; my poor ol' bones would 'ave hached many a cold night but for the blankets he brought me. God in 'eaven reward 'im for that same! I spare you the rest of the answers. Oh, you are a saint, without robe or wings." "Hadn't we better come back to the subject," said Mr. Holworthy, in a mild voice.
The cook was rapidly becoming more and more friendly, "and the housemaid is called Geraldine, for which 'eaven forgives her parents, she bein' spotty and un'ealthy and by no means a Bow-Bell's 'eroine, which 'er name makes you think of.
"Why and wherefore?" rejoined she; and he replied "The why is that all the livelong day thou tormentest thy hubby; and he keeps calling on 'eaven for aid until sleep is strange to me even from evenin' till mawnin', and he prays and damns, cussing us two, me and thee, causing me disquiet and much bother: were this not so, I should long ago have got my health; and it is this which prevents my answering thee."
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