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And then sweet, dark-eyed Sera, MacBride's young wife, took up her guitar and sang us love songs in the old Lusitanian tongue of her father; and Tom Devine, the ex-boat-steerer, and Charley de Buis, the reckless; and Peter Huysmans, the red-faced, white-haired old Dutchman, all joined hands and danced around the rough table; while Billy Grey and Ludwig Wolfen stood on the top of it and sang, or tried to sing, 'Home Sweet Home'; and the writer of this memory of those old Pacific days sat in a chair in the doorway and wondered where we should all be the next year.
Captain MacBride's dynamiting squad had realized that a stand was hopeless except on Van Ness Avenue, their decision thus coinciding with that of the authorities. They could have forced their explosives farther in the burning section, but not a pound of guncotton could be or was wasted.
There was a stunned hush, followed by a gust of exclamations. "Guid Lorrd!" The Scots accent fairly curdled on Colin MacBride's tongue. "We canna go over that!" "I'm afraid not; twenty would be about our limit," Gresham agreed. "And with the best items gone ..." He shrugged.
But in truth, as Father Bowles was just reflecting, she looked remarkably well. The influences of her native air seemed so far to have brought Dr. MacBride's warnings to naught. Or was it the stimulating effect of her brother's engagement?
Hawkins turned to him. "By the looks of things, MacBride's whole unit has gone over to the rebels. Complete with their double-barreled muskets. A full thousand of them." Watson looked frigidly at Leonid Plekhanov. "You insisted on issuing guns to men we weren't sure of." Plekhanov grumbled, "Confound it, don't use that tone of voice with me. We have to arm our men, don't we?"
We stood on, and next we made out the rugged hills above Berkley Sound, and then got close to the dark brown cliffs of Macbride's Head, with hundreds of seals lying on the sands and rocks below them.
I'm willing to bet that thing simply shoved the whole electron system of the mercury out a notch that it simply hasn't any K-ring of electrons now. I'm trying some other metals. Douglass is going to have MacBride make up half a dozen more machines. Machines they need a name. This ah this is an 'atostor. MacBride's going to make up half a dozen of 'em, and try half a dozen metals.
The plenty which regaled Mr. Byron, and which might have supported not only armies, but armies of Patagons, was no longer to be found. The geese were too wise to stay, when men violated their haunts, and Mr. Macbride's crew could only now and then kill a goose, when the weather would permit.
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