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Updated: June 22, 2025
The manuscript required less revision than I supposed. But, in the course of making such few changes as were necessary, I had ample opportunity of studying the character of Mr. Harwell. I found him to be neither more nor less than an excellent amanuensis.
Trueman Harwell could not stand it. "Ah, ah!" he cried; "look at her! cold, cold; not one glance for me, though I have just drawn the halter from her neck and fastened it about my own!" And, breaking from the clasp of the man who in his jealous rage would now have withheld him, he fell on his knees before Mary, clutching her dress with frenzied hands.
The flags of Harwell and Yates, the white H and white Y, were everywhere. Shop windows were partisan to the blue, but held dashes of crimson as a sop to the demands of hospitality and welcome. At one o'clock the exodus from town began.
"No, sir; that is just what I did not do. I forced myself to forget the whole thing." "And yet you say it produced an effect upon the family?" "I can see now that it did. None of them have ever appeared quite the same as before." "Mr. Harwell," I gravely continued; "when you were questioned as to the receipt of any letter by Mr.
But now, sufficient time having elapsed for the public to forget their officer, who had been killed on duty, and Deborah, through receiving Grace Conner and Miss Harwell into her home, being included to some extent in the damaging comments of the righteous community, the crafty Judge saw his opportunity.
"Softly, lady, softly! do not be harsh!" said Harwell, entering the apartment in which Emily was, and which was the only one the cabin contained. "Mr. Maxwell," said Emily, rising, "if you have any mercy, or pity for my misfortunes, let me be left alone." "I would not injure you, Miss Dumont," replied Maxwell, in a gentle tone. "I would see you in safety at your destination. Mr.
Hope Harwell was a beautiful woman beautiful with the beauty of a womanhood unspoiled by vain idleness, empty pleasures or purposeless activity.
The coroner, with a characteristic imperviousness to all expressions of emotion, leaned back and surveyed the young man with a scrutinizing glance. "And where did you go then?" he asked. "To my own room." "Did you meet anybody on the way?" "No, sir." "Hear any thing or see anything unusual?" The secretary's voice fell a trifle. "No, sir." "Mr. Harwell, think again.
One Saturday Prince, the Varsity left-half, twisted his ankle, and Joel was taken on in his place. They were playing Amherst, and Joel has ever since held that college in high esteem, for that it was against its Eleven he made his début into Harwell football life. And how he played!
At the first play it was sent speeding away from Blair's toe to the Yates mid-field, a long, clean, high kick, that led the forwards down under it in time to throw the waiting back ere he had taken a step, and that brought shouts of almost tearful delight from the Harwell sympathizers.
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