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The girl laughed in a strained fashion. She had been a little startled, and was not quite sure yet as to how she should receive him; but Hawtrey drew her in. "The old folks are out," she said. "They've gone over to Elliot's for supper. He's bringing us a package." Hawtrey, who explained that he had the parcel, let her hands go, and sat down somewhat limply.
I'd run off and the boss man whipped her cause she wasn't keepin' me at home. If he didn't whip her, he'd pull her ears. "When we was comin' up they didn't 'low the chillun to sit around where the old folks was talkin'. And at night when company come in, we chillun had to go to bed out the way. Sometimes I'm glad of it. See so many chillun now gettin' into trouble.
I float around and groan, and talk foolish, and sometimes I pull off bedclothes or reveal the hiding-place of buried treasure. But what good does it do in a town so intellectual as Harmony?" I have seen many folks who were down on their luck, but never one who so appealed to me as the late Robert J. Dinkle.
He ran his fingers through his long dark hair, and resettled his shoulders against the pile of blankets supporting them. "It kind of startles you to find guts in folks when you're up against it. You can't help it. Maybe it's conceit makes you feel that way," he went on quietly. "Those two boys of mine, and An-ina. You couldn't beat 'em. Nothing could.
Others they are the rich folks of Croisic they say that Cambremer has made a vow, and that's why people call him the Man of the Vow. He is there night and day, he never leaves the place. All these sayings have some truth in them.
She said it was all very well for young folks to laugh, but at her age she had enough to do to pray; and she had never said so many prayers, nor with so much fervency, as she had done since she received the blessed sight of the blue star on the Dust-heap, and the chastising rod of the lobster's head at home.
At last there was quite a rivalry who should have it next, and the folks used to put in their claims with the owner whenever they had an opportunity. One day Mr. Smith's wife died, and Mr. Butterwick attended the funeral. Smith was nearly wild with grief.
And he said that every human being was like that image; there was gold and there was clay in every one of us. Part of us was human and part was divine. Part of us was earthly like the clay, and part heavenly like the gold. And he said that in some folks you couldn't see anything but the clay, but that the gold was there, and if you looked long enough you'd find it.
It's lyin' here a week sick you've been, and, savin' your pardon, the sooner you tell me where your folks live the better. They'll be fair wild about you." The sick man closed his eyes again. "I have no family at all," he said. It was the first time in years that the thoroughgoing extent of that fact had been brought home to him. His nurse was moved to sympathy over so awful a fate.
"Not publicly. He's friendly with a good many men and with their wives. A dozen, I guess; but the husbands invite him to their homes, so I don't suppose there could be anything in the gossip. You see, folks are always too eager to talk about a man in his position and whatever woman he happens to be friendly with.
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