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Updated: May 5, 2025
I think it's sort of up to us." "But how?" "That I don't know, except to keep our eyes open." "Oh, Marj!" exclaimed Lily, interrupting her, and changing the subject. "Do you 'spose the mail's been sorted? It was late to-night, you know." "What makes you so anxious?" teased Marjorie. "Hearing from Dick Roberts?" "Now Marj don't be silly!" "But you are expecting something?"
About two months after Gerald's return to California a despatch was received from the Evening Mail's regular correspondent in Marysville, relating the particulars of an encounter between the Mexican holders of a large ranch in Yuba County and certain American land-grabbers who had set up a claim to a portion of the estate.
"Last mail in, Mis' Bascomb?" "Last mail's in, Tony." "Be there anything for me to-night?" Widow Bascomb knew perfectly well there was not, but she reached for a small pile of letters in a pigeonhole on her right and glanced over them rapidly. Her sour visage and rasping voice softened perceptibly as she smiled on the little old man before her. "Sorry, Tony, there's nothing for you to-night."
The mail's closing tomorrow morning." "Yes," replied the two correspondents at the table, simultaneously bringing their letters to a close. "Hurry up, then," said the messenger. "The Padre's waiting to censor them. He sent me along to see if there were any more." Mordaunt folded his letter and placed it in an envelope. "Got a stamp, Harcourt? I've run out." He extended a penny.
But a second hung around the Post Office, where the Commissary received and distributed the prisoners' letters, while lesser groups shifted and moved about at the tail of the butchers' carts, and others laden with milk, eggs, and fresh vegetables from the country; for Axcester had now a daily market, and in the few minutes before the mail's arrival the salesmen drove their best trade.
Though he questioned the man, Craig did not get anything out of him except that the shot had come from a cruiser which had been hanging about and was much faster than the patrol boat. The nurse and a young intern seemed inclined to be reticent, as though we might imply that the mail's condition reflected on the care he had received, which they were at pains to convince us had been perfect.
"I have been making some odds and ends of alteration. Is the news from Australia?" he continued, the open letter in her hand helping him to the suggestion. "A mail's due." Miss Deborah shook her head. "It is from my father, Mr. Jan. The first thing I saw, upon going into the breakfast parlour, was this note for me, propped against the vase on the mantel-piece. Mr.
And when the joyful cry, "Mail's come," would send everybody else in the regiment on a run to the Chaplain's tent, in eager anticipation, to jostle one another in impatience, until the contents of the mailpouch were distributed, Shorty would remain indifferent in his tent, without an instant's interruption in his gun cleaning, mending, or whatever task he might have in hand.
Then he turned away with a slight sigh. "Well, boys," he said, with another attempt at jocularity, "if ther' ain't nuthin' doin', guess this mail's sure closed." Passing again to the back of the cart, he gazed affectionately upon the gold-chest. Then he lifted his eyes just as Van voiced the question in everybody's mind.
"That's just what I've come to ask you, sir," the guard replied. "The mail's going slowly on as far as Ipswich. I fancy they'll lie by there until the morning. The best thing that I can see is, if you're agreeable, to take you back to London. We can very likely do that all right, if we start at once." Mr.
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