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Updated: May 5, 2025
I wonder now what Frances is doing; the fact is, she has received an important letter. It's about my affairs. I am naturally anxious to know its contents. Tell your secret as quickly as possible, little woman, and let me get to more important matters." "More important matters? I'm ashamed of you," said Fluff, shaking her finger at him.
The Squire set the thumb and forefinger of each hand into a whisker fluff and twisted a couple of spills, squinting at them. "The compliment is esteemed, boys. But the previousness is perplexing. This is February, and the primaries are not till June." "Squire Hexter, it ain't too early to show a man in this town where he gets off. That man is Tasper Britt.
In a wide, flat part of the valley where the creek split itself into a dozen little channels, and the water rippled between sandy bars and over pebbly shallows, Neewa and his mother were nosing about lazily for a breakfast of crawfish. The world had never looked more beautiful to Neewa. The sun made the soft hair on his back fluff up like that of a purring cat.
She stepped firmly to the coat-rack, and began to put on her motoring-cloak. And just then Jane Hubbard came downstairs, shepherding before her a pale and glassy-eyed Bream. "Right under the bed," she announced cheerfully, "making a noise like a piece of fluff in order to deceive burglars." Billie cast a scornful look at her fiancé.
"Here's the evening frock!" cried his daughter, lifting out the top garment and holding it up before them both. "Oh, what a dress to send a poor country cousin! Fluff and flimsy, trimmed with sparklers; cut frightfully low, no sleeves, and a draggly train. Doesn't it look suitable for me?" She flung it aside with a gesture of scorn. "Ah, here's something a shade better!
But when your arms are full of girl and fluff You hide your nerve behind a yard of grin; You'd spit into a bulldog's face, or bluff A flock of dragons with a safety pin. Life's a slow skate, but love's the dopey glim That puts a brewery horse in racing trim. Wallace Irwin. Part 1 James Farnum had been back in Verden twenty-four hours.
"I thought I'd wait until we rehearsed." "You said Fluff and Hero were to have parts," Winifred reminded him, a little anxiously. "What does Lafayette wear?" asked Ruth. Gilbert's face flushed: "Just like girls, wanting to know everything before I've had time to think. But I can tell you one thing, we'll have to plan our costumes now."
He stood beside them beaming, on them first and on his roomy clothes from points of which Mr Dedalus flicked fluff, saying: They were made for a man in his health, Ben, anyhow. Bad luck to the jewman that made them, Ben Dollard said. Thanks be to God he's not paid yet. And how is that basso profondo, Benjamin? Father Cowley asked.
"But he didn't," said John. "Eh? what?" "Scaife wanted Caesar," John explained. "And I've noticed, Caterpillar, that whatever Scaife wants he gets." "He wants breeding, Jonathan, but he'll never get that never." After this, John saw but little of Desmond; and Scaife hardly spoke to him. Accordingly, much of our hero's time was spent in the company of the Duffer and Fluff.
"May I call you John, when we're alone? And I wish you'd call me Esmé, instead of that horrid 'Fluff." John pondered deeply. "Look here," he said. "You can call me John, and I'll call you Esmé, when we're Torpids. And now, you'd better cut back to the house. I must think this all out, and I can't think straight when I look at you." "May I call you John once?"
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