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Updated: June 11, 2025
"Help! help! sir, your honour!" ejaculates Mrs. Betty, and proceeds to fall on her knees. "Help whom?" A howl ensues from Gumbo. "Gumbo! you scoundrel! has anything happened between Mrs. Betty and you?" asks the black's master. Mr. Gumbo steps back with great dignity, laying his hand on his heart, and saying, "No, sir; nothing hab happened 'twix' this lady and me."
"Yes." "And, between you, you disposed of the difficulty?" "Yes." Another silence. Then Madeline turns to look at her companion. "Why don't you ask me what the 'difficulty' was?" No answer. "But you want to know?" Claire laughs nervously. "And I want to tell you," pursues Madeline. "First, we talked of ourselves." "Oh!" ejaculates Claire, looking immensely relieved.
It is always impressive, it is sometimes very terrible, occasionally it is sublime. It begins in a way that no one can explain. Somebody in the crowd utters a name, or ejaculates a brief sentence. What happens? Often nothing at all. Men are not in the mood for it; it drops unnoticed, or provokes a jeer or two and is then forgotten.
Idlers lining the rails, however, ignorant of the identity and capabilities of Miss Myra Rostrevor, watch her struggle with her spirited steed apprehensively if they are ignorant of horsemanship, and with admiration if they are experienced. "Ride him, missie, ride him!" ejaculates a lean, bronzed American involuntarily. "Gee! some girl! She's sure got you beat, horse, and you know it.
"Ha!" ejaculates the gaucho, who has now caught the other's meaning, "I see the whole thing. Bravo, Senor Cypriano! You've beaten me in the craft of the pampas. But I'm not jealous no. Only proud to think my own pupil has shown himself worthy of his teacher. Gracias a Dios!"
"But I'm not off to paint the town red," says John, believing the other thinks it is his intention to see the sights of Malta's capital by night "I have an engagement." "In the Strada Mezzodi; eh?" "Thunder; how did you guess it?" ejaculates the man of medicine, astonished beyond measure. "I am not a guesser.
The yawl strives persistently to shake free from the daring creatures who have so far escaped the Africa and the storm. The boy turns on the gunwale, as it were a trapeze. He opens the locker. He finds a tin pie-plate. He bails. Corkey gets in. "Lord of heavens!" he ejaculates, "that was a close call. Them wood-choppers! They was no earthly use." Two hands are yet on the gunwale.
"The grand climax is coming," he thinks, as he takes note of these things. "Blunt is getting ready to sweep the board. Well, good luck to him." Even Mustapha has discovered that something strange is on the tapis. He has a singular way of expressing it. "Poor Monsieur Constans," he whispers. "What is the matter with him?" ejaculates John, in about the same tone. "It is too bad."
"Mark ye, my friend of the clergy, these places make sad destruction of our young men. Indeed I may say with becoming sincerity and truth, that they spread a poison over the community, and act as the great enemy of our social system." "Heigh ho!" ejaculates Madame Ashley, to the great delight of the throng assembled, "Satan has come to rebuke sin."
"Madame Flamingo!" ejaculates the man, grasping her hand. "Tom Swiggs!" exclaims the woman, burying her face for a second, then pressing his hand to her lips, and kissing it with the fondness of a child, as her eyes swim in tears. "How strange to find you thus " continues Tom, for truly it is he who sits by the forlorn woman.
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