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Howitt whispered to his companion, "Let me open the door and talk to them, Grant. Surely they will listen to reason." But the woodsman returned, "Talk to a nest of rattlers! Jim Lane's the only man that can talk to them now. We've got to stand them off as long as we can."
If there was anything unmistakable in Lane's look at her, it was not from any deception on his part. He tried to look into her soul. Her smile a strange indolent little smile, remnant of excitement faded from her face. She stared, and she put an instinctive hand up to her somewhat dishevelled hair. Then she passed on with her companion. "Of all the nerve!" she exclaimed. "Who's that soldier boob?"
Percy was ashamed and sorry that he had hurt the animal, but Lane's eruption of temper smothered his repentant feelings. "He bit my thumb," he muttered, sullenly. "You know well enough he was just in sport. Don't you kick him again! You hear me!" Percy mumbled an indistinct reply. As soon as the cabin was unlocked he turned into his bunk, without a word to anybody.
Colonel Lane's doors were ever open, not only to his friends, but to every wayfarer, and as the small settlement, originally called Bloomsbury, became Raleigh, and the state capital, he found it necessary to build an "ornery" for the accommodation of strangers; this building stood upon Hillsborough Street, and was torn down only a short time ago.
In what respects Simonds was inferior to Freke, the Divine Mind alone could say. When that convulsive face shot past Isabelle in Lane's office, it was merely the tragic moment when the conscious atom was realizing fully that he was not to be the one to survive! The moment when Suspense is converted into Despair....
"I do not think any the less of them because it is impossible for them to be here," said the young girl, blushing. "Of course not. It's only my immense good fortune. They would give their right eyes to stand in my shoes." "I hope I may soon hear that they are all recovering. I fear that Mr. Lane's and Mr. Strahan's wounds are serious; and, although Mr.
Baker were waiting for him on the sidewalk, and when they reached the corner where the interurban trolley car stopped to take on passengers, they found Perry Phelps and Jimmie Butterworth and Leslie Bradin and Carleton Marsh, each with a box of lunch under his arm. "Going to Europe?" said the conductor, as he watched them climb into his car. "Let them off at Lane's Corners," he repeated, as Mr.
He thoroughly enjoyed reading his "The Spinster's Sweet-Arts," and when he was reading "Enoch Arden" he told Miss L to listen to the sound of the sea in the line, "The league-long roller thundering on the reef," and to mark Miriam Lane's chatter in "He ceased; and Miriam Lane Made such a voluble answer promising all."
He returned it with interest, his right going true to its mark; down went Dolph, as if hit by a pile-driver. He lay for a moment, stunned. Strong and active though Jim was, he could not bear the brunt of the entire battle. Lane's assailant had proved too much for him; they were struggling together on the gravel, the older man on top.
To Lane's left rear lay Pender's brigade, supporting twelve guns posted in the open, on the far side of the embankment, and twenty-one massed in a field to the north of a small house named Bernard's Cabin. Four hundred yards in rear of Lane's left and Pender's right was stationed Thomas's brigade of four regiments.*
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