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Updated: May 11, 2025
For the second I was rather at a loss. I stared round to see the door of the magic shop, and, behold, it was not there! There was no door, no shop, nothing, only the common pilaster between the shop where they sell pictures and the window with the chicks!... I did the only thing possible in that mental tumult; I walked straight to the kerbstone and held up my umbrella for a cab.
A fortnight before, while returning from a managers' meeting of the Royal Institution, in company with his friend Sir Frederick Bramwell, he tripped upon the kerbstone of the pavement, after crossing Hamilton Place, Piccadilly, and fell heavily to the ground, with his left arm under him.
I was standing on the kerbstone of the pavement in Budmouth-Regis, outside the Preparatory School, looking across towards the sea, when a middle-aged gentleman on horseback, and beside him a young lady, also mounted, passed down the street. The girl turned her head, and possibly because I was gaping at her in awkward admiration, or smiling myself smiled at me.
He pushed his way down the street, where the country-people, having completed their week's marketing, were loading donkeys on the footpath or carts pushed backwards against the kerbstone. Women dragged their heavily-intoxicated husbands from the public-houses, and girls, damp and bedraggled, stood in groups waiting for their parents.
It very slowly moved forward, crossed the footpath and half the street opposite the Town Hall, impeding a tram-car, and then curved backward into a position by the kerbstone. John's Ernest was at the steering-wheel. Councillor Batchgrew stood still with his mouth open to watch the manoeuvre. "This is John's Ernest my son John's eldest. Happen ye know him?" said Batchgrew to Rachel.
People came running up the street and out of the courtyards. An ambulance glided swiftly through the crowd. A little girl whose name was Suzette was picked up from the edge of the kerbstone out of a pool of blood. Her face lay sideways on the policeman's shoulder, as white as a sculptured angel on a tombstone.
Now she simply recovered her footing, paused a moment on the kerbstone to arrange her dress, and then drifted away into the crowd slowly, without even glancing at her nightly critics, who were aware of a new bow on her gown, recognized with imperturbable sang-froid the change in a trimming or the alteration of a waist-belt. Slowly she walked along. Piccadilly bats fly slowly. The moon went up.
For the second I was rather at a loss. I stared round to see the door of the Magic Shop, and, behold, it was not there! There was no door, no shop, nothing, only the common pilaster between the shop where they sell pictures and the window with the chicks! ... I did the only thing possible in that mental tumult; I walked straight to the kerbstone and held up my umbrella for a cab.
A few minutes later he was in his car and on his way back to Boulogne. Olive Moreton gave a little start as the long, grey, racing car came noiselessly to a standstill by the side of the kerbstone. Captain Granet raised his hat and leaned from the driving seat towards her. "Hope I didn't frighten you, Miss Moreton?" "Not at all," she replied. "What a perfectly lovely car!" He assented eagerly.
'Ten days, said Deesa, 'you must work and haul and root trees as Chihun here shall order you. Take up Chihun and set him on your neck! Moti Guj curled the tip of his trunk, Chihun put his foot there and was swung on to the neck. Deesa handed Chihun the heavy ankus, the iron elephant- goad. Chihun thumped Moti Guj's bald head as a paviour thumps a kerbstone. Moti Guj trumpeted.
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