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Updated: June 7, 2025
Upon this, Truman Harford called me aside, and told me the danger of taking an officer from the ship; for that, if any accident should happen to her, the damage might all fall upon me. I then inquired of Mr. Sheriff if there was any officer on board, who could manage the ship. He pointed one out to me, and I spoke to him in the cabin.
Kernan's attention to Mr. Harford, the moneylender, who sat some distance off, and to Mr. Fanning, the registration agent and mayor maker of the city, who was sitting immediately under the pulpit beside one of the newly elected councillors of the ward.
So he left the garden, and passing out through the iron gate, he found himself on the high road, turning to walk down in the direction which they had come the night before. Presently a sign-post stood before him, one hand pointing to Stratton, and the other to Harford.
I will even go so far as to say that I doubt if any bank clerk well acquainted with Mr. Hartington's signature would pass it." "And now for the blot," Cuthbert said. "There was a blot somewhere near the signature of Mr. Harford." "Don't tell me where it was, Mr. Harford. I would rather not know its exact position."
For instance, in the description of the tombs of the Medici, Mr. Harford writes of the famous figures of Aurora and Twilight, Day and Night: "The four figures that adorn the tombs are allegorical; and they are specially worthy of notice, because they first set the example of connecting ornamental appendages of this description with funereal monuments.
As their hands met, he looked up with a queer, mirthless smile. "I hope you are going to be good to her," he said. "I am going to be good to you both," said Lester Cheveril quietly. In the silence that followed his words, the band on the pier became audible on a sudden gust of wind. It was gaily jigging out the tune of "The Girl I Left Behind Me." "What a secluded corner, Miss Harford!
Damn it now, what's his name? Little chap with sandy hair...." "And who else?" "Harford." "Hm," said Mr. Cunningham. When Mr. Cunningham made that remark, people were silent. It was known that the speaker had secret sources of information. In this case the monosyllable had a moral intention. Mr.
Poor soul! she recognised bitterly enough now, that the only safety for a woman is in that bond which a man may so lightly affect to set at naught: in a contract like hers and Philip's, the man has all to gain, the woman all to lose. It was growing dusk one November afternoon, when the door of Virginia's drawing-room was thrown open, and Lord Harford announced.
"They are not!" cries Lord Harford staunchly. "What I say is gospel truth. I think your delicacy becomes you. I hate your great buxom, dairymaid women." Virginia smiles at his earnestness. "Ah, if you had been mine," he goes on, "I should never have wanted to look at another woman, young or old." Still that strange meaning in his tone.
General Harford, with guides, Sikhs, Goorkhas, came down like a hurricane from the south-east, cut off a great body of tribesmen from their fellows, and drove them headlong, with deadly force, upon the defences they had striven so furiously to take. The defenders sallied out to meet them with fixed bayonets. The brief siege, if siege it could be called, was over.
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