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Updated: May 23, 2025
The smell of the sewer was the chief odor, and the long lines of low, red brick houses, with wooden steps and balustrades, and the blinds closed, completed a permanent camp of dreariness. "Does Fanny Newt live there?" asked Gabriel, in a tone which indicated that there might be hearts in which honey was not abundantly hived. "Yes," said May, gravely.
As he and his friends passed up Broadway toward Chambers Street they met Abel Newt hastening down to Bunker's to accompany Miss Plumer to Grace Church. The young man had bathed and entirely refreshed himself during the hour or two since he had stepped out of Thiel's.
It stopped at the door. In a moment the sound of a footstep was audible. "My dear, I wish to speak to Alfred alone. I hear his step," said Mrs. Dinks. "Yes, aunt," answered Hope Wayne, rising, and taking her little basket she moved toward the door. Just as she reached it, it opened, and Alfred Dinks and Fanny Newt entered. Hope bowed, and was passing on. "Stop, Hope!" whispered Alfred, excitedly.
"Making sure that you and I could form a little pool and seek a few wagers on the game to-morrow, with the dead certainty of winning. I've been over to Barville to see Newt Copley." "Oh!" muttered Hooker. "And you put my machine on the blink!" "It simply quit on me, that's all. I didn't do a thing to it on my word, I didn't. There's nothing broken, old man.
Lawrence Newt was not unmindful of the difference of age between Amy Waring and himself; and instinctively he did nothing which could show to others that he felt more for her than for a friend. Younger men, who could not help yielding to the charm of her presence, never complained of him. He was never "that infernal old bore, Lawrence Newt," to them.
"He covered it up, laughed, and dropped dead." "Gracious!" said Mr. Boniface Newt. "Or like Boccaccio's basil-pot," continued Abel, calmly; pouring forth smoke, while his befogged papa inquired, "What on earth do you mean by Boccaccio's basil-pot?"
Van Boozenberg, I am pleased to introduce to you my son Abel, who has just entered the house." Abel rose and bowed. "Have you been in the store?" asked the old gentleman. "No, Sir, I've been at school." "What! to school till now? Why, you must be twenty years old!" exclaimed Mr. Van Boozenberg, in great surprise. "Yes, Sir, in my twentieth year." "Why, Mr. Newt," said Mr.
Suddenly he started as if struck a stifled shriek of horror burst from his lips he staggered back his hand opened the paper fell fluttering to the floor. Abel Newt had unexpectedly seen the reflection of his own face in the mirror that covered the chimney behind the clock. He recovered himself, swore bitterly, and stooped to pick up the paper.
There is even a suspicion in you such is your distemper that it is too much a witch's cauldron in the kitchen, "eye of newt, and toe of frog," and you spy and poke upon your food. Bus boys bear off the crockery as though they were apprenticed to a juggler and were only at the beginning of their art. Waiters bawl strange messages to the cook.
What taste that young Hal Battlebury has! remarks Lawrence Newt, admiringly, as he smells the flowers that stand in a pretty vase upon the centre-table. Amy Waring smiles, and says that it is Thorburn's taste, of whom Mr. Battlebury buys the flowers. Mr. Newt replies that it is at least very thoughtful in him.
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