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Updated: May 23, 2025
I hope the little trouble he spoke of being in with the police isn't serious, for Jack and I think he's simply splendid!" Archibald's sister seemed indifferent to this praise of her brother. At least she said nothing. So Mary took up "Wormwood" and half-shouted another installment.
She did not turn up her nose, but she favored his dirt and rags with a look of disapprobation he could not mistake. "Go on," he half-shouted. "Shoot it into me. If I was washed if I wore good clothes if I was respectable if I had a job and worked regular if I wasn't what I am." To each statement she nodded. "Well, I ain't that kind," he rushed on. "I'm no good. I'm a tramp.
Then the word that had struggled for utterance came, and it was in Latin: "Peccavi." It was only that word, but it was enough to make the old Major lean forward, clap one hand on the lad's shoulder, and half-whisper: "Spoken like your father's son!" and then, as the door behind him opened, he half-shouted, "Coming!" Then to his companion, "Now, my lad dinner!"
"The family's in bed. Wait till we get to my part of the house." When they were there, with doors closed and the lights on, Craig exhaled his breath as noisily as a blown swimmer. "What a day! What a day!" he half-shouted, dropping on the divan and thrusting his feet into the rich and rather light upholstery of a near-by chair. Grant eyed the feet gloomily.
He choked, and turned away to the window. "You left a banana skin on those stairs?" Lanse half-shouted. "Yes." "Right there, at the top when Delia almost broke her neck more than once going down those stairs only last winter, just because they're so steep and narrow?" Just nodded. "And you fell on a banana skin once yourself, and wanted to thrash the fellow who left it!"
She did not turn up her nose, but she favoured his dirt and rags with a look of disapprobation he could not mistake. "Go on," he half-shouted. "Shoot it into me. If I was washed if I wore good clothes if I was respectable if I had a job and worked regular if I wasn't what I am." To each statement she nodded. "Well, I ain't that kind," he rushed on. "I'm no good. I'm a tramp.
He looked down at it in surprise and wonder, and it was some moments before he grasped the fact that the piece of what resembled blackened clay was hard, dry cake. "Ah!" he half-shouted as he raised it to his lips and tried to bite off a piece, but only to break off what felt like wood, which refused to crumble but gradually began to soften.
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