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Updated: April 30, 2025
There are so many inexactitudes, that one'll probably cancel out the other." "That's so, and it's also pretty futile getting angry at somebody who's been dead two hundred years, but why couldn't they say Wednesday, or Monday, or Saturday, or whatever?" Monty checked back in the astronomical handbook, and the photostated pages of the old almanac, then looked over his calculations.
He may say, 'It's rather like Cloyster's style, but he'll certainly add, 'Anyhow, it's what I want. You can scratch that difficulty, Julian. Any more?" "I think not. Of course, there's the objection that you'll lose any celebrity you might have got. No one'll say, 'Oh, Mr. Cloyster, I enjoyed your last book so much!" "And no one'll say, 'Oh, do you write, Mr. Cloyster? How interesting!
I can pare a piece of turf up where it'll never be missed, and if master'll take one spade, and I another, why we'll lay him softly down, and cover him up, and no one'll be the wiser." There was no reply from either for a minute or so. Then Mr. Wilkins said: "If my father could have known of my living to this! Why, they will try me as a criminal; and you, Ellinor? Dixon, you are right.
"If it turns out as we have been conjecturing," he says, in conversation with Miranda, "I shall seek the scoundrel in his own stronghold. If he be not there, I shall follow him elsewhere ay, all over Mexico." "Hyar's one'll be wi' ye in that chase," cries the ex-Ranger, coming up at the moment.
Wid that, says he, 'Pat, says he, 'where's the stills mostly at work now? 'Faith, says I, 'I don't exactly be knowing; for, yer honour, I niver turned a penny that way myself 'but, says I, 'sich a one'll tell you, and I mintioned one of the tinants; 'and where's he? said the masther; 'why I heard tell, says I, 'that he's in Aughacashel, but av you'll go down to Drumleesh, you'll find out, and wid that he went down the road to Drumleesh, and I druv the body off to Carrick."
Ef that one'll jest make me happy, I'll fold my weary pinions and settle down in a rustic log-cabin and raise corn and potaters till death do us part." Cynthy trembled. Cynthy was a saint, a martyr to religious feeling, a medieval nun in her ascetic eschewing of the pleasures of life. But Cynthy Ann was also a woman. And a woman whose spring-time had paused.
"Just so," responded the captain, "and everybody knows that he was an old man. But no, I'm not goin' to marry; I'm only goin' to give up my house, sell off the furniture, and come and live with you." "Live with me!" ejaculated Mrs. Brand. "Ay, an' why not? What's the use o' goin' to the expense of two houses when one'll do, an' when we're both raither scrimp o' the ready?
His eyes continued to meet her own. It was exactly like looking at his photograph. Dwight had recovered his authentic air. "Oh, well," he said, "we can inquire at our leisure. If it is necessary, I should say we can have it set aside quietly up here in the city no one'll be the wiser." "Set aside nothing!" said Ninian. "I'd like to see it stand." "Are you serious, Nin?" "Sure I'm serious."
Then the doc. wants to know if Number One'll give 'im an order in writin' to bleed the boys; but Number One larfs and sez 'e won't be such a fool, and sez that in 'is opinion the buoys should be bled. The doctor then sez the boys don't want bleedin', and arsks Number One if 'e's prepared to haccept 'is advice as a medical orficer.
"And why shouldn't I? But what has all this to do with the finding of my daughter? I didn't come here to be catechised in this way." "Well, I didn't tell ye to come, Mister. If ye don't like yer reception, ye kin leave whenever ye want to. No one'll interfere with yer goin', an' the door's right thar." Henry Randall was unused to such plain speech, and it angered him.
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