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Updated: May 23, 2025
"Yus," he remarked at length, "I can, sir, if 'e keeps quite still. But I won't be answerable for the consequences if 'e don't." "No more will I." The Brigade-Major mopped his brow. "For heaven's sake get on with it." Thus ended the episode of Percy FitzPercy his man-trap.
That liking added to the seriousness of his situation in John Hunter's home. He mopped his perspiring brow, while little wet lines showed in the creases of his sleeves and across the back of his thin summer shirt. The fierce heat parched his mouth and his whole burning body called for a drink.
Tellier hesitated an instant, glanced at the other's face, and went. And Collins, closing the door behind him, mopped the perspiration from his forehead. "Well done, my friend," he said; "exceedingly well done!" And with that, he turned back to the inner room.
Then he mopped his forehead with an uncleanly bandana handkerchief, and made his way to a public-house lower down the street. Jimmy followed him thither with no definite object, save perhaps a kind of morbid curiosity. The publican greeted the furniture dealer with a friendly nod. "Clearing another out, Mr. Ludwig?" The other grunted assent. "One of the soft sort. She ran away.
An elderly man, evidently the leader, lifted a soft felt hat and mopped the perspiration from the bald top of his head. He was a large man, very rotund of belly and helpless looking. His gray beard was stained with streaks of tobacco juice, and he was smoking a cigar. He was stoop-shouldered, and Saxon noted the dandruff on the collar of his coat.
"What befell?" puffed Sir Hokus, getting to his feet. Naturally, he knew nothing of the poisonous sands. "You did," wheezed the Cowardly Lion in an agitated voice. "Was it a dragon?" asked the Knight, limping toward them hopefully. "Sit down!" The Cowardly Lion mopped his brow with his tail. "One step on that desert and it would have been one long goodnight."
Tom Breeks had either taken in too much air, or the ale that had hitherto successfully prompted him was antipathetic to the nice delicacy of an apologue; for now his arm began to work and his forehead had to be mopped, and he lashed the words "Union and Harmony" right and left, until, coming on a sentence that sounded in his ears like the close of his speech, he stared ahead, with a dim idea that he had missed a point.
"I didn't know either you or Schnitt until yesterday." Ersten knit his bristling brows, but presently grinned. "You're a smart young man," he complimented. "But I don't promise Schnitt I move." "Certainly not," agreed the smart young man, and mopped his brow. The fight was won! "Here is exactly what you must say" and he went patiently over the entire dialogue again, word by word.
There was a moment's silence, while Kirby hesitated in what order to tell his facts. Hull mopped the back of his overflowing neck. Phyllis Cunningham moistened her dry lips. A chord in her throat ached tensely. "Suspicion fell first on me an' on Hull," Kirby went on. "You've seen it all thrashed out in the papers.
'Course you don't know when he's comin' and I got to do some drivin' meself right soon." "So?" "Yep. 'Course I got the wagon, but they ain't no style to that. I was wantin' a rig with style to it like the buckboard." Sundown fidgeted nervously with the buttons of his shirt. He coughed, took off his hat, and mopped his face with a red bandanna. Despite his efforts he grew warmer and warmer.
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