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Updated: May 21, 2025
"You mean they should have protected Miss Flipp," said Dawn, "and when a man with grey hairs carries on like this the crime is twice as deadly. There was nothing about grey hairs when you used a lead comb and got yourself up to kill. I thought you didn't want to make an especial feature of them, and that's why I'm dyeing them this beautiful treacley black. They'll look bosker when I'm done."
The oranges will soon be ripe, that's good luck: I can eat eighty a-day easy. Here comes old Bolliver!" A huge figure as described by Dawn came out of the house in company with Miss Flipp, and I recognised Mr Pornsch, the heavy swell who had travelled in the 'bus with me on the day of my first arrival in Noonoon.
"Say, what did you think of Miss Thing-amebob, Miss Flipp I mean?" "I didn't bother thinking anything at all about her." Andrew looked interrogatively at me and broke into a grin. "Well, I reckon she's the silliest goat I ever came across. She came out to me and asked did I think she looked pretty, as her uncle is coming up to-night, and if she looks nice he'll give her a present or something.
Peter groaned, but contented himself with correcting only their grosser grammatical blunders; the experiment should be tried in all good faith. Humour at which Flipp laughed was printed. Peter tried to ease his conscience by increasing his subscription to the fund for destitute compositors, but only partially succeeded. Poetry that brought a tear to the eye of Flipp was given leaded type.
Miss Flipp apparently had her window open too, for despite the conversation in her room being in subdued tones, I heard it where I lay. It contained startling disclosures anent these two persons' relations and characters, and when Mr Pornsch went his way with the uneven footsteps of the overfed and of accumulating years, he left me in a painful state of perturbation. What course should I pursue?
"Oh Lord!" good-temperedly giggled "Dora," for home truths that would be considered sheer spleen from a plain girl are taken as fine fun when uttered by a girl as physically attractive as Dawn. During the second week of the footballer's absence, who should appear to lend a hand on the side of Leslie Walker but Mr Pornsch, uncle of the late Miss Flipp.
Suddenly Redwing arose, as Flipp played an ace on his adversary's last card, and raked the dust toward himself. "Yer tuk that ace out of yer sleeve I seed yer do it. Give me back my ounces," said Redwing. "It's a lie!" roared the great Flipp, springing to his feet, and seizing Redwing's pistol-arm. The weapon fell, and both men clutched like tigers.
The former came out to inform Andrew that the pony had to be harnessed, as Mrs Clay had promised Miss Flipp she could drive her uncle back to catch the train. "I hope the old thing won't smash up the sulky," said Andrew. "He's the old bloke that come down here in the summer in a check suit, an' I told him you was all out an' we was full up." "A few of him would soon fill up.
Even if Miss Flipp had not drowned herself, but had lived to be an outcast, you would be still a murderer of her soul." "What's this?" he blustered.
Dawn rose in a hurry and boxed Andrew's ears as she passed, because he too rose and tumbled over his chair in her way. "Some people ought to tie themselves up to be out of the way," she ejaculated. "Miss Flipp is not in her room," she presently called, "and her bed is smooth and made up." "God save us, then! Mr Danby says she's drownded in the river," exclaimed her grandma. "What's to be done?"
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