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Updated: May 13, 2025
Myron Jones has always suited us as sexton before. Oh! we'll have no peace no peace at all!" "But, Elder," timidly suggested the pastor, "such things as the young people have asked to do have been helpful things. And I'm sure if you would attend one of their meetings you would find their spiritual growth commendable surely commendable." "Ha!" sniffed the old gentleman, wagging his bristling head.
Her name, next to his, gave him a proud feeling. Together. The feeling of connectedness with Francesca was deep and comforting, as long as he didn't think of Jennifer and the baby at the same time. Myron had invested most of the money in some kind of fund. There were small amounts of General Electric, Royal Dutch Shell, Pfizer, Microsoft, and Citibank. A note suggested that he stop in.
"What's Pfizer?" he asked Myron. "Pharmaceutical company. Solid. The long term outlook for the drug industry is good." Oliver inquired about the fund that was listed on the statement. "Right," Myron said. "It's a safe place to park cash government securities only, decent return." "I was wondering," Oliver said, "if you could hold my statements here not send them." "We can do that.
What sudden yearning for the wash of waves, and the spring of girlhood, and the consciousness that one is fair to see, had overtaken her? She watched through her hair and her fingers for the love in her husband's eyes. But he waded out to her, ill-pleased. "Harrie, this is very imprudent, very! I don't see what could have possessed you!" Myron Sharpe loved his wife. Of course he did.
It's riz up in me, the one that's goin' to beat, no matter what comes of it, same as old Abner Kinsman stood up ag'inst the British. Mebbe it'll die fightin', same's he did, and I never'll hear no more from it, and a good riddance. But Myron, it's goin' to beat." Her husband was frowning, not harshly now, but from the extremity of his distress. He spoke in a tone of well-considered adjuration.
At that the storm seemed to Myron to be over, and his forehead cleared of anger. He looked at her in much concern. "I guess you better lay late to-morrer mornin'," he said, rising to close the windows and wind the clock. "I'll ride over and get Sally Drew to come and stay a spell and help you." Something tightened through her tense body, and she answered instantly in a clear, loud note,
"He comes storming down the aisle exclaiming; 'Your Honour, I protest against this grossly irregular proceeding! The judge pounds on his desk with his little croquet mallet and Myron Bughalter tells Snyder, out of the corner of his mouth, to shut up. But he won't shut up for some minutes.
There was a pause in the conversation, and Oliver asked, "Do you know Myron Marsh?" "Marshmallow? Sure," Conor said. "I used to have resources with him. Too conservative for me. You've got to step up to the plate uh . . . Have we met? I'm Conor." "Oliver." "Up to the plate, Oliver." He looked down, charming, sorry for Oliver who was too short to hit it out of the park. "Ah," Oliver said.
Herman waited, but his father could not speak. Myron was really seeing, as in a homely vision, the peace of the garden where he might at this moment have been expecting the call to dinner if he had not been summoned to the bar of judgment. "I guess he's goin' to let me say it," his wife continued. "Father's goin' to give you a deed o' the Turnbull place.
The great artists of antiquity did not confine themselves to the representation of man; but they also carved animals with exceeding accuracy and beauty. Nicias was famous for his dogs, Myron for his cows, and Lysippus for his horses. Praxiteles composed his celebrated lion after a living animal.
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