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There was a little white house in the middle of the triangle, with two lit windows. I says: "Monson! Somebody's squatted on it!" "What!" he says. Somebody was singing in the house. Monson looked around from his rowing, and found it very funny to his mind, for he laughed with a roar, and the singing stopped short. "Turn into the reeds!" I says, and we crouched there in the boat.
It might be thought, and some would say so, that the trouble I had with Monson came of Clyde's money being unclean, as not got honestly, but through dodging South American customs, and I'm free to admit it was sticky when I dug it up. But it's never acted other than respectable since that time. I never agreed with Clyde in argument, more than did Stevey Todd.
Yes, he was a gentleman, though he mixed profanity into his ordinary flow of conversation more liberally than did I when in a rage. I stood up before him, threw my coat back, thrust my thumbs into my trousers pockets and slowly turned about like a ready-made tailor's dummy. "Monson," said I, "what do you think of me?" He looked me over as if I were a horse he was about to buy.
Captain Christopher Lister, an officer of great resolution, Captain Edward Careless, alias Wright, who had been captain of the Hope in Sir Francis Drakes expedition to the West Indies against St Domingo and Carthagena; Captain Boswel, Mr Mervin, Mr Henry Long, Mr Partridge, Mr Norton; Mr William Monson, afterwards Sir William , who was captain of the Meg and vice-admiral, and Mr Pigeon, who was captain of the caravel.
It seemed to me her friendliness was less perfunctory, less a matter of appearances. And the sun was bright, the air delicious, my health perfect. It took all the strength of all the straps Monson had put on my natural spirits to keep me from being exuberant.
There was Lord Hollingford, plain in face, awkward in person, gentlemanly in manner; and half-a-dozen younger men, Lord Albert Monson, Captain James, and others of their age and standing, who came in looking anything if not critical.
"It's just where the house is," I says, "or it was. There wasn't any house then." Monson shook with laughter though he kept it quiet, and I don't know what pleased him. It would have pleased me then to see him dead, I was that savage for the people in the house. One spot on a mean little island, and they'd squatted on it!
"See, Minnie, how her neck is shaded from the most beautiful green to the richest mazarine blue." "And look at her breast, mother; see those elegant red feathers!" "The parrot," said Mr. Monson, "is an insulated bird. Its manners and general structure, and the mode of using its feet, as described by naturalists, are different from any other bird. Mr. Vigors, Mr.
She was at a small desk by the window, was writing letters. "May I interrupt?" said I. "Monson was here a few minutes ago from Mrs. Langdon. She wants to see me. I told him I would see her here. Then it occurred to me that perhaps I had been too good-natured. What do you think?"
Monson, like many a later expert, suspended judgment regarding the two types; but Sir Walter Raleigh came out strongly for the smaller design. "The greatest ships," he writes, "are the least serviceable...., less nimble, less maniable; 'Grande navi grande fatiga, saith the Spaniard.
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