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Updated: June 14, 2025
"You'll a-remember of this occasion," he said, "when you gets older." The little boy turned his black eyes from his mother to him who had spoken last. "It's a beautiful wreath," continued Creed. "I could smell of it all the way up the stairs. There's been no expense spared; there's white laylock in it that's a class of flower that's very extravagant."
And as this thought struck him, he pulled out two more, picked up the ones he had set to one side, slammed to the drawer, by this time realizing that Grandma could not hear, and ran out of the bedroom to the "laylock" bushes, where he sat down to enjoy the peppermint drops.
McBean, affably inclining. "Look, Camilla dear Sir William and Lady Frazer in laylock sarsnet how well that diamond bandeau becomes her! They are early to-night. As I was saying, Mr. "Ducie." "To be sure. As I was saying, any friend of Mr. Robbie one of my oldest acquaintance. If you can manage now to break him of his bachelor habits? You are making a long stay in Edinburgh?"
I don't say that they're wrong. But I likes laylock." "What's laylock?" asked Paul. His friend explained. No lilac bloomed in the blighted Springs of Bludston. "Does it smell sweet?" "Yuss. So does the may and the syringa and the new-mown hay and the seaweed. Never smelt any of 'em?" "No," sighed Paul, sensuously conscious of new and vague horizons. "I once smelled summat sweet," he said dreamily.
Fifteen minutes after the purple prose of Babbitt's form-letter, Chester Kirby Laylock, the resident salesman at Glen Oriole, came in to report a sale and submit an advertisement. Babbitt disapproved of Laylock, who sang in choirs and was merry at home over games of Hearts and Old Maid. He had a tenor voice, wavy chestnut hair, and a mustache like a camel's-hair brush.
"The cats 'ave been in that laylock," he replied, twisting off a broken branch. "I'll knock off now for a bit o' lunch." But at that moment the sound of a voice speaking as it might be from a cavern, caused him and Joe Petty to stare at each other as if petrified. "Wot is it?" whispered Joe at last. The gardener jerked his head towards a window on the ground floor. "Someone in pain," he said.
"If you don't, I'll break every bone in your body." The threat left its object quite unmoved. He pointed a crayon at Peter Quick Banta's creation. "What is that? A bool-rush?" "It's a laylock; that's what it is." "And the little bird that goes to light " "That ain't a bird and you know it." Peter Quick Banta breathed hard. "That's a butterfly." "I see. But the lie-lawc, it drop so!"
The nine were Stanley Graff, the outside salesman a youngish man given to cigarettes and the playing of pool; old Mat Penniman, general utility man, collector of rents and salesman of insurance broken, silent, gray; a mystery, reputed to have been a "crack" real-estate man with a firm of his own in haughty Brooklyn; Chester Kirby Laylock, resident salesman out at the Glen Oriole acreage development an enthusiastic person with a silky mustache and much family; Miss Theresa McGoun, the swift and rather pretty stenographer; Miss Wilberta Bannigan, the thick, slow, laborious accountant and file-clerk; and four freelance part-time commission salesmen.
"Dear!" exclaimed Mrs Jones, as the letter was folded up again, "what a outlandish place!" "We've worked hard, Biddy and me," continued Mrs Lane with a glance of pride at her daughter and a little sigh, "to get all her things nice and ready. Two new dark laylock prints I've got her." "With a spot?" inquired Mrs Jones full of interest.
She was a well made, pretty lookin' girl, but I tell ye 't was like setting a laylock bush to grow beside an ellum tree, and expecting of 'em to keep together. They wa'n't mates.
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