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Updated: May 19, 2025
"It looks to me like a scene from an opera," replied Mrs. Nesbit. "Yes, we are all very prosperous and clean comic opera gypsies, Mrs. Nesbit," said Hippy Wingate, who had come up just in time to hear Mrs. Nesbit's remark. "Why, Hippy Wingate, I never should have recognized you. You look like the big smuggler in 'Carmen. I have forgotten his name." "I am a smuggler, Mrs.
If we do we will be able, at least, to eat our meals without the eternal accompaniment of Miss Harlowe's and Miss Nesbit's doings. Ever since that basketball game, Stuart Hall has talked of nothing else." "Are there many freshmen at Stuart Hall?" asked Beatrice Alden. "Too many to suit me," was the emphatic answer.
'It was built at the same time as the house. There was some idea of Mrs. Nesbit's living here; and of late years it has been kept empty for poor John. He broke off. Violet wondered if it was to be her abode, and whether those empty rooms could ever be as pleasant as the parlour at Winchester; but no more passed, and it was time to go into church.
David Nesbit's trial flight in his aëroplane, Grace's encounter with the escaped lunatic, who imagined himself to be Napoleon Bonaparte, were among the features which made the book absorbing from start to finish.
Their gaze fixed upon the distinguished seeress, whom Elfreda was solicitously piloting across the lawn to the grotto, no one answered Julia's question. In fact, only one of their number was prepared to reply to the query. Having taken the vow of silence, Miriam Nesbit's tranquilly-composed features offered no sign of the significant knowledge that lay behind them.
She felt that it would be casting a slight on Arthur; and she assured Lady Martindale that she hoped soon to leave London, and how impossible it was for her to move house without Arthur. It seemed to be a great disappointment, and opened to Violet a fresh insight into Lady Martindale's nature; that there was a warm current beneath, only stifled by Mrs. Nesbit's power over a docile character.
Nesbit's voice clipped out some pert objection. "Potted the beggar, any'ow see for yourself go-down 's afire." "Saves us the trouble of burning it." The other voice moved away, with a parting rebuke. "No more of that, sniping and squandering. Wait till they rush you." Rudolph lifted his head from the dust. "Maurice!" he called feebly. "Maurice, let me in!"
The handling of cattle had been entrusted fully to her husband. In the days of "King" McAllister, Santa had been his secretary and helper; and she had continued her work with wisdom and profit. But before she could reply, the prince-consort spake up with calm decision: "You drive that bunch to Zimmerman and Nesbit's pens. I spoke to Zimmerman about it some time ago."
Other hats presently came bobbing toward him, low down among the marsh. Puffs of white spurted out from the mud. And as Heywood dodged back through the gate, and Nesbit's rifle answered from his little fort on the pony-shed, the distant crack of the muskets joined with a spattering of ooze and a chipping of stone on the river-stairs. "Covered, you see," said Heywood, replacing the bar.
"You asked her to protect you; then you deserted her and deliberately went over to Miriam for help." "Wasn't that awful?" deplored Hippy. "Such inconstancy makes me blush." "You couldn't blush if your life depended upon it," was David Nesbit's scathing comment. "There are others," retorted Hippy. David glared ferociously at the grinning Hippy.
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