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On one memorable occasion when her husband had appeared, flapping the window-panes from within with a towel, she had thought for one brief moment that he was beckoning to her, and that she might have to go to him, and she was beginning to experience terror, with shortness of breath and other premonitions of sudden passing, when she discovered that he was merely killing flies, and she flurriedly fanned herself with the asbestos mat which she had seized from the stove beside her, and staggered out to a seat under the mulberries, as she stammered: "I do declare, Morris'll be the death of me yet.
"Please, suh, gentlemen," pleaded the shaking negro, "I ent done nuttin'." "Shut your mouth!" ordered the sheriff again, "and ride faster. Day'll soon break." "You're 'fraid Mr. Morris'll ketch us 'fore we reach the jail," laughed one of the guard. And the sheriff did not answer.
"Perhaps you wouldn't mind giving him a line of introduction to Lord Cashel," said Mat. "But, Morris," said Blake, "I'm afraid your politics would go against you. A Repealer would never go down at Grey Abbey." "Morris'll never let his politics harm him," said Tierney.
I'll not let the nigger escape, you may be sure of that, and I've telegraphed for Judge More to come out here. I've telegraphed the whole case. Surely Mr. Morris'll trust Judge More?" Mitchell dragged at his mustache. "Poor Morris is nearly dead," he said. "Of course; won't he go and eat and rest till Judge More comes? Every house in the town'll be open to him."
En I know say if I git outer dis place Mr. Morris'll kill me sho des sho. So I like fuh stay yer berry well." And the teacher went away, wondering if her work if any work would avail; and what answer the future would have for this awful problem. A Snipe-Hunt A Story of Jim-Ned Creek "I ain't sayin' nothin' ag'inst the women o' Jim Ned Creek ez women," said Mr.
And not even a chance given to Dab to run down to the landing for a good-by look at the "Jenny" and "The Swallow." His mother and Ham, and Miranda, and the girls, seemed to be all made up of "good-by" that morning. "Mother," said Dab. "What is it, my dear boy?" "That's it exactly. If you say 'dear boy' again, Ham Morris'll have to carry me to the cars. I'm all kind o' wilted now."
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