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Updated: June 8, 2025
Kybird considered an extremely unbusinesslike manner, and it was not without a certain amount of satisfaction that he regarded her discomfiture as the party sallied out. Mr. Nugent was not happy. Mrs. Kybird in the snug seclusion of the back parlour was one thing; Mrs. Kybird in black satin at its utmost tension and a circular hat set with sable ostrich plumes nodding in the breeze was another.
Kybird, who was troubled with asthma, was suffering untold agonies in a black satin dress which had been originally made for a much smaller woman, and had come into her husband's hands in the way of business. It got into hers in what the defrauded Mr.
"Why don't you come inside and sit down for a bit?" Mr. Smith accepted the invitation, and following her into the room found Miss Kybird busy stitching in the midst of a bewildering assortment of brown paper patterns and pieces of cloth. Mrs. Kybird gave him a chair, and, having overheard a portion of his conversation with her husband, made one or two casual inquiries.
"'E's behaved very bad," said Mrs. Kybird, nodding. "'E come 'ere night after night," said Mr. Kybird, working himself up into a fury; "'e walked out with my gal for months and months, and then 'e takes 'imself off as if we wasn't good enough for'im." "The suppers 'e's 'ad 'ere you wouldn't believe," said Mrs. Kybird, addressing the visitor.
"You're not very lively company," said Miss Kybird, bending over her sewing. "I don't think you've spoken a word for the last quarter of an hour, and before that you were talking of death-warnings. Made my flesh creep, you did." "Shame!" said Mr. Nugent. "You didn't say anything to me about your flesh creeping," muttered Mr. Silk. "You ought to have seen it creep," interposed Mr. Nugent, severely.
"Get your tea," retorted Miss Kybird, "and don't make that scraping noise on the bottom of the jar with your knife. It puts my teeth on edge." "So it does mine," said Mr. Nugent, "but there's a black currant down there, and I mean to have it. 'Waste not, want not." "Make him put that knife down," said Miss Kybird, as her mother entered the room. Mrs. Kybird shook her head at him.
"You'll 'ave to 'ave both," observed Nathan Smith, whose knowledge of the sex was pretty accurate. Mr. Kybird nodded gloomily. "'Melia and Jack don't seem to 'ave been 'itting it off partikler well lately," he said, slowly. "He's getting more uppish than wot 'e was when 'e come here first. But I got 'im to promise that he'd settle any money that 'e might ever get left him on 'Melia." Mr.
Smith shrugged his shoulders. "It wouldn't 'ave happened if I'd been there," he observed, arrogantly. "I don't see 'ow" began Mr. Kybird. "No, o' course you don't," said his friend. "Still, it's no use making a fuss now. The thing is done. One thing is, I don't suppose it'll make any diff " "Difference," suggested Mr. Kybird, after waiting for him to finish. "Difference," said Mr.
To that simple act he imparted an emphasis which commanded the attention of both beholders, and, drawing over to Miss Kybird, he stood over her in an attitude at once terrifying and reproachful. "Take your choice, Amelia," he said, in a thrilling voice. "Me or 'im which is it to be?" "Here, steady, old man," cried the startled Nugent. "Go easy." "Me or 'im?" repeated Mr.
I've run across him once or twice before. He's almost as bashful and retiring as you are." Hardy grunted. "If the captain isn't in London, where is he?" he inquired. The other shook his head. "I've got an idea," he replied, "but I want to make sure. Kybird and Smith are old friends, as Nugent might have known, only he was always too high and mighty to take any interest in his inferiors.
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