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Updated: June 18, 2025
Dobbin drew back rather confusedly, "I I beg your pardon, m'am," he said; "but I am bound to tell you that it is not as your friend that I am come here now." "Pooh! damn; don't let us have this sort of thing!" Jos cried out, alarmed, and anxious to get rid of a scene. "I wonder what Major Dobbin has to say against Rebecca?"
"Hold your noise, Trotter; do now," said Simpson the page. He was affected by his mistress's deplorable situation, and succeeded in preventing an outrageous denial of the epithet "drunken" on the footman's part. "Oh, M'am," said Raggles, "I never thought to live to see this year day: I've known the Crawley family ever since I was born.
Hetty called out. "You try to build a fire with dynamite for kindling?" Shaken but otherwise unharmed, Barney painfully limped over to the ranch house porch. "Don't ask me what happened, m'am," he said. "I just poured that milk into the slop pot and then put the lid back on and walked off.
Agitated tapping at the door: "The cotton-wool m'am." "Sticking- plaster, m'am." "'Ot bottle, m'am." "Go away!" roared Bob. "Go away! O-oo, my face!" He hopped in wrath and pain. "Send those damned women away!" Mrs. Chater rushed to the door. Passing, she for the first time caught full sight of her son's face now that the hot water had exposed its wreck. "Oh, your eyes! Your poor eyes!
"Two hours ago, m'am, and I think I understand the house. Shall I bring tea into the dining-room, or would you rather have it in the study?" But she did not once glance past his aunt to Carmichael, who was gazing in silence at this composed young woman in the doorway. "This is Sarah, John, who hes come to keep yir house," and his aunt stepped back. "Sarah, this is my dear laddie, the minister."
Winter coming, and my cellar full!" "Oh, Aunt Judith! Do you wonder that I love him?" "Who could help it?" was the eager question, "And that's not all, for with the idea that he hadn't done enough, this morning when I opened my back door a neat looking little maid stood there. "I'm sent here, m'am, by your relative, Mr.
"Did anybody call on him yesterday?" asks Miss Bulstrode, careless like "a lady?" "No," I says; "you are the first as yet." "He's brought his cook down with him, hasn't he?" says Mr. Quincey. "Yes," I says, "and a very good cook too," which was the truth. "I'd like just to speak a few words with her," says Miss Bulstrode. "Sorry, m'am," I says, "but she's out at present; she's gone to Wycombe."
Jane, Kate, and Susan clustered in alarm about the door: "Oh, m'am! M'am! Whatever is it?" Mrs. Chater gave no reply. Her can full, she plunged through them. This way and that they dodged to give her passage; dodge for dodge, demented, hysterical, she gave them slopping boiling water on to agonised toes; bursting through at last; thundering up the stairs. The three plunged after her: "Oh, m'am!
Ties and hose on a rail over the counter. All right." "I wonder you don't set about it right off," said Miriam. "Mean to get it exactly right, m'am," said Mr. Polly. "Have to have a tomcat," said Mr. Polly, and paused for an expectant moment. "Wouldn't do to open shop one morning, you know, and find the window full of kittens. Can't sell kittens...."
She took up the spinning stick, and it looked like it was all she could do to keep from giving him a crack with it. "What made you think I'd like it?" "Well, I don't know. Only, they they told me you would." "THEY told you I would. Whoever told you's ANOTHER lunatic. I never heard the beat of it. Who's THEY?" "Why, everybody. They all said so, m'am."
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