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Updated: June 17, 2025
"What have you two chaps been at?" cried Roff wonderingly. "The line's all twissen round his legs, and hold hard a minute till I get my knife. I must have that eel." "He's a two and a half pounder, he is," said Jem Roff as, after a bit of a struggle, he got tight hold of the writhing monster. "My word," he continued, holding it down, "he's a strong un!
If you don't wake quick now, you'll maybe not have the chance to wake at all." The men rolled over and sat and stood up blinking stupidly at him and listening in amazement to the noise outside. "Rouse yourselves," he cried. "Get a move on. The Germans are almost on top of us. The front line's falling back. They'll stand here." He seized one or two of them and pushed them towards the door.
"Flecknoe, thy characters are so full of wit And fancy, as each word is throng'd with it. Each line's a volume, and who reads would swear Whole libraries were in each character. Nor arrows in a quiver stuck, nor yet Lights in the starry skies are thicker set, Nor quills upon the armed porcupine, Than wit and fancy in this work of thine." This is one of Flecknoe's Characters:
He was one of those supercilious young idiots that make the most of such small power as ever drifts down to them. Taking the message, he tossed it on the table. "I'll send it when I get time." "You'll send it now." "What what's that?" Her steady eyes caught and held his shifting ones. "I say you are going to send it now this very minute." "I guess not. The line's busy," he bluffed.
So Jack hadn't pulled up his line ten or a dozen times before he was pulled up himself. `Whose line's that? says Old Duty. `Mine, sir, says Jack, touching his hat. `I don't allow fishing, young man, said the first lieutenant. `You understand me? I don't allow fishing. You've your duty to do, sir, and I've got mine.
One after another, reports arrived that would profoundly affect public opinion: new observations taken by the transatlantic liner Pereire, the Inman line's Etna running afoul of the monster, an official report drawn up by officers on the French frigate Normandy, dead-earnest reckonings obtained by the general staff of Commodore Fitz-James aboard the Lord Clyde.
He sensed something provocative and challenging in her voice, but he would not play up. "I wonder " he said quietly. "In a way, the proper line's to go to sleep again." "Sometimes one dreams! I expect you dream about locomotives breaking through trestles and dump-cars plunging into muskegs?" He laughed. "They're things I know, and safe to dream about.
I said with a groan, for there were no more fierce tugs, and as I hauled, the line came in yard by yard for me to cast down on the deck. "The line's broken," said Mr Denning in a husky voice, as he drew out his handkerchief to wipe his face. "Yes; it was a monster," I said dolefully. "Oh, what a pity!" "Missed one?" said the captain. "Yes, sir; a great fellow, five feet long at least."
Thou wilt not yield the vandal toll. Maryland! Thou wilt not crook to his control, Maryland! Better the fire upon thee roll, Better the blade, the shot, the bowl, Than crucifixion of the soul, Maryland! My Maryland! I hear the distant Thunder hem, Maryland! The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum. Maryland! She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb Hnzza! she spurns the Northern scum!
I daresay she was a bit fagged. But if she's interested in her work, what does that matter? I wonder whether she's looked out all these references? And walking over to the one neat table In the room he surveyed it. There were some sheets lying on it mostly covered with an excellent Greek script, which he turned over. Suddenly he swooped on one of them. 'Hullo! That line's wrong. Won't scan.
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