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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Don't you remember me, Frank," he said, "the lad whom you took so much trouble with over his Homer." "Harry Holl," Frank said in astonishment. "It was as Harry Holl that you knew him, but we have since found out that he is my grandson, the son of my daughter Ella," Captain Bayley explained.
He called up Powart two days after the Cobulus's sensational flight, reporting that he had been kidnapped "by some masked men" along with Reblong and the others, but that he alone had escaped. The ship, was found, abandoned, in an undeveloped part of Holl; and all signs indicated that the former prisoners had separated at this point.
I'd hate to be obliged to take the hay from him by force, but that will be necessary if everything else fails. The following day Gudrun went to see her father. The weather still remained cold. When Gudrun dismounted before the house at Holl, there was no one outside to greet her or announce her arrival, and so she entered, going straight into the baðstofa.
"Who are you?" he gasped, "and what have you been doing to the Captain? If you have killed him it will be a hanging matter, you know." "Don't you be a fool," retorted Mrs. Holl sharply, "but run for some water; he has got a stroke, though what it came from is more nor I can tell." To be called a fool by this unknown woman of coarse appearance roused the butler's faculties.
Do you know there are some fiddles two or three hundred years old which could not be bought for less than three or four hundred pounds?" "My gracious!" Mrs. Holl exclaimed, "three or four hundred pounds for such a thing as a fiddle. I calls it downright wicked." "He is a wonderful boy that son of yours, Mrs. Holl," Frank said, changing the subject; "a regular genius I should call him.
Holl said gratefully; "I will mention it to his father, and he But I doubt whether Evan's steady enough for a place yet, he is allus getting into mischief; there never was such a boy for scrapes; if all my eight were like him I should go clean mad afore the week was out.
The yard was situated near the river, and the house which adjoined it was a large old-fashioned building, standing in a pretty, walled garden. They went to the back door, and knocked. It was opened by a bright-looking servant-girl. "Is Mr. Holl in?" Sarah asked. "You are to be shown in," the girl said, and ushered them into a large, old-fashioned parlour, comfortably furnished.
"Mona the commission wouldn't allow evolution, and the workers wouldn't listen to revolution! So I've given them devolution!" "What?" she cried. "I've given them devolution. I've given the race of man a fresh start." But Mona was scarcely listening. "Turn back!" she screamed. "I want to go back to my home! I don't want to live in Holl. Turn back, I tell you!" Fort's face went white.
A few days later he could have told us, if anyone had been able to communicate with him, whether they are right or wrong, those latest theories on how it feels to die. But who dries the hay in his homefield now? Guðmundur Friðjónsson During the latter part of the reign of King Christian the Ninth, there lived at Holl in the Tunga District a farmer named Brandur.
Its books and shabby chairs seemed to welcome her, and the old tapestry delighted her. She stood some minutes before it in a quiet pleasure, dreaming herself into the forest, and discovering an old castle in its depths. Then she noticed a portrait of an old man, labelled as by "Frank Holl, R. A.," hanging over the mantelpiece. She supposed it was the grandfather who had collected the books.
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