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Updated: June 24, 2025
Young madam had been quite determined that, as Uncle Rowland was so unfortunate as to be held by the foot at Larks' Hall from his tour, he should not risk his speedy recovery by hobbling over to Mosely, when she could go herself or send Prissy every morning to let him know how the invalid was.
They had precious little respect for the law as law. And here they were, making the holy night indecent with bestial behavior. Again a sick qualm shook Peter: Mosely was calmly putting four severed black fingers into his coat pocket. Oh, where was the sheriff? Why didn't the sheriff come? Peter caught a glimpse of a shapeless, battered, gory mass under trampling feet.
Ben had less experience of men, and he regarded the speaker as a reckless desperado, ready to use his knife or pistol on the least provocation. He began to think he would have preferred solitude to such society. He was rather surprised to hear Bradley say quietly: "Mosely, you're a man after my own heart. That's the kind of man I be. If a man don't treat me right, I shoot him in his tracks.
Ben and Bradley did not join them, having already eaten heartily. "I hope you relished your supper, gentlemen," said Bradley politely. "I should say we did," responded Tom Hadley. "I say, them trout beat the world." "I'll shoot the man that says they don't!" said Bill Mosely, relapsing into his old tone. "So will I!" exclaimed Bradley, springing to his feet and brandishing his revolver.
Making a will is like ordering your grave clothes. Takes nerve. Mrs. Mosely didn't have any. She was merely a little old gray barnacle sticking to her husband's estate. She hello! What's the matter?" The procession halted. Both men leaned forward and stared. An old-fashioned brougham was being drawn slowly by a very fat old white horse into the too narrow space between the hearse and Briggs's car.
"Dozens of times," returned Hadley, who appeared to play second fiddle to his terrible companion. "That's the kind of man I am," said Bill Mosely, in a tone of complacency. Still, Bradley did not seem particularly nervous or frightened. He was fast making up his mind that Mosely was a cheap bully, whose words were more terrible than his deeds.
The men who were acting female characters upon the London stage when that institution was revived immediately after the Restoration were Kynaston, James Nokes, Angel, William Betterton, Mosely, and Floid. Kynaston, it is said, could act a woman so well that when at length women themselves began to appear as actors it was for some time doubted whether any one of them could equal him.
Says he needs a fund of four times as much as usual to meet the situation," answered Coleman. "What's he doing with it?" "Can't tell you; not a cent of it is deposited in the bank." "Well, I know he has taken in over a thousand dollars in the last two days." "It's no time to collect now with everybody in suspense over this Mosely will," groaned Coleman.
One might have said this procession was a moving dictograph of Sarah Mosely, whom no one knew. The Reverend Paul Stacey and Samuel Briggs occupied the car next to the hearse. They were at least the nearest relations to the present situation. "She was not a progressive woman," Stacey was saying. "No," answered Briggs, frowning. He was thinking of his own future, not this insignificant woman's past.
The suspense concerning the disposition of the Mosely Estate was only partially balanced by the confounded indignation of many citizens who came and went from Mike Prim's office. "Sent for you again, too?" exclaimed Coleman when he met Acres as he descended the stairs. "Yes, what's the matter?" asked Acres anxiously. "You'll find out when you get up there.
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