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Never heard of either of the gentlemen myself. And did he? 'Of course he did. He's a Jew, and he hated Hobart and his paper like poison. The Fact's so different, you know. Every one's clear he did it. Mind you, I don't blame him. The Daily Haste is a vulgar Protestant rag. 'The Jew's a dear friend of Laurie's, put in Wycombe. 'You'd better be careful, Aunt Cynthia.
"Let us hear you sing," whispered his little niece; and, in a voice as musical as the sound of ripples breaking on the shore, Lorelei sung a little song that made Fancy dance with delight, charmed Aunt Fiction, and softened Uncle Fact's hard face in spite of himself. "Very well, very well, indeed: you have a good voice.
"No; I don't reckon I ever cuts the trail of this yere Wilson you mentions, once. If I does, the fact's done pulled its picket-pin an' strayed from my recollections." I had recalled the name of a former friend, one Wilson, who, sore given to liquor, had drifted to Arizona many years before and disappeared.
I could love any man better than that! Just you open your eyes, my dear, and see what goes on about you. Do you see so many men made happy by their wives? I don't say it's all the wives' fault, poor things! But the fact's the same: there's the poor husbands all the time trying hard to bear it!
Lord love ye, gen'elmen, I can p'int you out a murderer afore the fact's committed I've got the names o' four on 'em no, five wrote down in my little reader, five werry promisin' coves as is doo for the deed at any moment; I'm a vaitin' for 'em to bring it off, sirs.
"But whoever Ashton was, he's dead. And the thing that concerns me is this: if he really was Earl of Ellingham, do you think that fact's got anything to do with his murder?" "That's just what we want to find out," answered Mr. Pawle eagerly. "It's quite conceivable that he may have been murdered by somebody who had a particular interest in keeping him out of his rights.
Theoretically, I had made a clean breast of it, and was forgiven; but actually, the law was too strong. It's hard and strange that it should be so, isn't it? I don't understand it; I never shall. For still it seems as if the punishment followed, not so much the fact, as the fact's being made known.
There was a strained note in her voice. K., whose ear was attuned to every note in her voice, looked at her quickly. "My great-grandfather," said Sidney in the same tone, "sold chickens at market. He didn't do it himself; but the fact's there, isn't it?" K. was puzzled. "What about it?" he said. But Sidney's agile mind had already traveled on.
I've got no money for that sort of thing myself." "Yes, of course," was Peterson's quick reply. "A fellow doesn't want to run them kind o' chances. I don't believe in it myself." "The fact's this, and this is just between you and me, mind you; I don't know anything about it, it's only what I think, somebody's buying a lot of December wheat, or the price wouldn't keep going up.
"Next time we get engaged you'll not be let in on the ground floor," Neill predicted. "Four days! My, my! If that ain't rapid transit for fair!" "You're a man of one idea, Steve. Cayn't you see that the fact's the main thing, not the time it took to make it one?" "And counting out Sunday and Monday, it only leaves two days." "Don't let that interfere with your breakfast.
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