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The sounds of Miss Naylor's staccato dictation travelled across the room, and Greta's sighs as she took it down, one eye on her paper, one eye on Scruff, who lay with a black ear flapped across his paw, and his tan eyebrows quivering. He was in disgrace, for Dominique, coming on him unawares, had seen him "say his prayers" before a pudding, and take the pudding for reward.
Naylor's shoulder so that the poor man showed signs of shutting up like a concertina inside the frock-coat; he squeezed Joseph's hand so fervently that the poor victim looked like a dentist's patient, and Thomas roared like an amiable Bull of Bashan, "Bah! Aw'm glad to see this day, sir. To think we should meet at last! Ah! fahscinating! oh! fahscinating." Mr.
But out of these rumors, unconfirmed though they were, grew a vision in Naylor's brain a vision of a glorified spread in the Sunday Banner's magazine section. Under a two-page "head," builded cunningly of six sizes of type, he saw ravishingly beautiful pictures of Madame Gianclis and Mrs.
Well now it doesn't sound quite fair, does it? but stealing is a dog's trick, and if a man behaves like a dog he must look to be treated like one; and he will be, too." "That is right, Joram; you look at it from that point of view, and we will look at it from another." "Open Naylor's cell. Naylor, what drove you to attempt suicide?" "Oh! you know, sir." "But this gentleman does not."
One of the negro women came scrambling down stairs as pale as a sorrel horse with consternation and excitement: "Misto Marsh, Misto Allen's skipped out!" "What!" "Yes-sah, and cleaned out his room clean; tuck bofe towels en de soap!" "You lie, you hussy!" "It's jes' so, jes' as I tells you en Misto Summer's socks is gone, en Misto Naylor's yuther shirt." Mr.
Wright has it, but in an instant Naylor's long arms are round him, bearing him down. "Adams!" ejaculates out captain, and in a trice he passes the ball into my hands, and I am off like the wind. So suddenly has it all been done that I have already a yard or two start before my flight is discovered.
Naylor's round face was sure to look over the stone-wall, pipe in mouth, with a "Don't disturb the gentleman, Tom; don't you see he's a composing of his rhymes!" in a strong provincial dialect put on for the nonce.
When, with her brown face twisted by pity and concern, she told him that it was a question of hours, Herr Paul turned first purple, then pale, and sitting down, trembled violently. "I cannot believe it," he exclaimed almost angrily. "Yesterday he was so well! I cannot believe it! Poor Nicholas! Yesterday he spoke to me!" Taking Miss Naylor's hand, he clutched it in his own.
But the dear old fellow seemed to take to me a friend put us in touch originally. I seem to be able to do just what he wants." "I hope your friend is not really ill, not seriously?" This time the question was Mrs. Naylor's, not Miss Delia's.
"It is a friend of Herr Harz," she whispered; "he will drink coffee. I am going to find Chris." "Greta!" gasped Miss Naylor. Mrs. Decie put up her hand. "Ah!" she said, "if it is so, we must be very nice to him for Christian's sake." Miss Naylor's face grew soft. "Ah, yes!" she said; "of course." "Bah!" muttered Herr Paul, "that recommences. "Paul!" murmured Mrs.
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