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Updated: April 30, 2025
"O Peregrine," she moaned from this dainty mystery, "O rash boy to have sunk to this sordid misery rags dirt! You that were wont to shudder at a splash of mud and now O kind heaven grimed like a dreadful collier and I think yes, O shameless youth, actually smiling through it " "And why not, m'dear creature?" sighed uncle Jervas.
"And you I don't understand." "We nearly ran you down, old chap." Berry's voice. "About a quarter of a mile from here, towards Fladstadt. But why were you driving away?" I stared at him. "Driving away?" I said slowly. "Then " There were quick steps and the rustling of a dress. Then Silvia spoke. "What is it, Bill? Tell me. Who's hurt?" "It's all right, m'dear," said the man's voice. "Mrs.
"Nay, Monsieur Chaubertin," said Sir Percy gaily, "but this is marvellous... demmed marvellous... do you hear that, m'dear?... Gadzooks! but 'tis the best joke I have heard this past twelve-months.... Monsieur here thinks... Lud! but I shall die of laughing.... Monsieur here thinks... that 'twas that demmed letter which went to Paris... and that an English gentleman lay scuffling on the floor and allowed a letter to be filched from him..."
Don't let her go off in the wagonette." "Very good, sir." He put the luggage on a seat and ran back to the exit. Exactly opposite to where we were standing was a first-class carriage. As the guard's whistle was blown: "Have you got my bag, Peter?" said a plaintive voice. "Yes, m'dear," and Sir Peter and Lady Tagel passed down the platform. We watched them greedily. The train began to move.
"Good old Nan! She's a well-plucked 'un," was Barry's comment when she had finished. "Of course it's splendid of her," said Kitty. "Nan was always an idealist in her notions but in practice it would just mean purgatory. And I won't let her smash up the whole of her own life, and Peter's for an ideal!" "How do you propose to prevent it, m'dear?" "I propose that you should prevent it." "I? How?"
As she surveyed that bulk Terry realised that while Ruby might still claim eccentricity, her song and dance days were over. "That's ancient history, m'dear. I haven't been working for three years. What're you doing in this joint? I'd heard you'd done well for yourself. That you were married." "I am. That is I well, I am.
"Nay, m'dear," he murmured with his good-humoured smile, "personally I should prefer a drop of good French brandy! an you'll dive in the pocket of this dirty old garment, you'll find my flask. . . . I am demmed if I can move." When he had drunk some brandy, he forced Marguerite to do likewise. "La! that's better now! Eh! little woman?" he said, with a sigh of satisfaction.
It was Sir Percy Blakeney, tall, sleepy, good-humoured, and wearing that half-shy, half-inane smile, which just now seemed to irritate her every nerve. "Er . . . your chair is outside . . . m'dear," he said, with his most exasperating drawl, "I suppose you will want to go to that demmed ball. . . . Excuse me er Monsieur Chauvelin I had not observed you. . . ."
He extended two slender, white fingers toward Chauvelin, who had risen when Sir Percy entered the box. "Are you coming, m'dear?" "Hush! Sh! Sh!" came in angry remonstrance from different parts of the house. "Demmed impudence," commented Sir Percy with a good-natured smile. Marguerite sighed impatiently. Her last hope seemed suddenly to have vanished away.
I exclaimed. "The highly pedestrian tripper from Trouville!" "You got me right, m'dear friend," he replied with condescension; "I rec'leck meetin' you perfect." "And I was interested to learn," said I, carefully observing the effect of my words upon him, "that you had been to Les Trois Pigeons after all.
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