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Updated: May 23, 2025
"Thenk Gord!" said Frederick. "Thenk Gord! I've pretty well busted myself over this game." Mr. Fletcher said nothing; drew his snail from his pocket; plunged head downwards in a bush. Woe sat heavy upon him; beneath the indignity and labour of thrusting at stranger cats with a clothes-prop this man had grievously suffered. The Rose was stolen. That was Mr.
And until it disappeared over the tops of the trees of a near-by wood the five men stood as though paralyzed, their eyes never leaving the weird shape; nor never one of them appearing to recall that he grasped a loaded rifle in his hands. With the passing of the thing, came the reaction. Tippet sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, Gord," he moaned.
He calls himself Longstreth over there." All of Fletcher's face not covered by hair turned a dirty white. "Cheseldine Longstreth!" he whispered, hoarsely. "Gord Almighty! You braced the " Then a remarkable transformation came over the outlaw. He gulped; he straightened his face; he controlled his agitation. But he could not send the healthy brown back to his face.
"Look at that," said Holroyd; "where's your 'eathen idol to match 'im?" And Azuma-zi looked. For a moment Holroyd was inaudible, and then Azuma-zi heard: "Kill a hundred men. Twelve per cent. on the ordinary shares," said Holroyd, "and that's something like a Gord!"
Although it was Saturday morning, several of the others had pennies or half-pence! and at the conclusion of each verse they all followed Harlow's example and the house resounded with the ringing of falling coins, cries of 'Thank you, kind lady, 'Thank you, sir, and 'Gord bless you, mingled with shouts of laughter.
And then for an instant Bert perceived only too clearly in the growing, pitiless light a number of minute, convulsively active animalcula scorched and struggling in the Theodore Roosevelt's foaming wake. What were they? Not men surely not men? Those drowning, mangled little creatures tore with their clutching fingers at Bert's soul. "Oh, Gord!" he cried, "Oh, Gord!" almost whimpering.
Oh, Gord! Hit almost caught me, sir. Hi'm has good as dead; Hi'm a marked man; that's wot Hi ham. Hit was a-goin' for to carry me horf, sir." "Stuff and nonsense," snapped Bradley. "Did you get a good look at it?" Tippet said that he did a much better look than he wanted. The thing had almost clutched him, and he had looked straight into its eyes "dead heyes in a dead face," he had described them.
This question was addressed by me to the sly man, and he was embarrassed. "Livin'! 'Taint no livin'. It's lingerin'. Leastways it would be if it wasn't for my gell, Tilley, there. 'Er and 'er 'usban' gives us a 'and; an' if you've got a bit about you you might 'elp us put our copper to rights. Got a thick 'un? I'll pay it back, s'elp me Gord, if the missus can start laundryin' agin'."
But you seem a well-plucked one, and what with your crutch How did you come by it?" "Kick of a pony." "Seems to me you've been a good deal mixed up with animals, for your age. What about your pa and ma?" "Never 'ad none, I thank Gord." "Eh?" The young man laid down his shovel, lifted the flap of his sou'wester, and scratched the back of his head slowly. "Let me get the hang o' that, now."
"Oh, Gord, he grown ole and poor-lookin'. He come in, just in dat do', an' he say, 'Sibyl, I long an' long to see you, an' now I see you; an' he kiss an' kiss me. An' dere's one wide ribber o' Jordan, an' we'll soon be dere, black an' white. I was right glad I see ole Mars' Middleton 'fore I die."
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