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"Cray was the name of the village near near oh, I can't remember near where," I was saying, when Tom, who had been examining the letter with great attention, exclaimed, "Audrey, there's more writing here on the other side that you haven't seen C. R. I believe it's the 'drecktion." And so it was. "ESTHER PIERSON, Flure's Cottage, Cray, Near Coppleswade. is my adress," Pierson had added.
Old Gravity's speech!" roared a middle-aged, bold-eyed man, who had suggested the sally from the windows, and from the first had set the younger spirits an example of recklessness. "Hear to him!" He filled a glass of wine and waved it perilously near the Colonel's nose. "Old Gravity's speech! Give it tongue!" he cried. "The flure's your own, and we're listening."
"A thousand guineas on Katty! M'Carthy agin Gallagher for ever! whirroo!" "Blur alive the flure's not benefittin by you, Paddy. Lay on it, man! That's it! Bravo! Whish! Our side agin Europe!" "Success, Paddy! Why you could dance the Dusty Miller upon a flure paved wid drawn razures, you're so soople." "Katty for ever! The blood's in you, Katty; you'll win the day, a ban choir! More power to you!"
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