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Updated: July 19, 2025
On his feet, with exaggerated politeness, he took off his hat with a sweeping bow. "Madam, your very obedient!" "Good afternoon," she said breathlessly. Benjamin Wright, tottering a little, changed his cane from his left to his right hand, and chewed orange-skin fiercely. "I have called, madam " But she interrupted him. "Won't you come in and sit down, sir?
Having deftly patted and squeezed the orange-skin till it resumed its original shape, he filled it up with water, inserted a fresh lump of sugar in the orifice, and, issuing forth, blandly proffered it to me as I sat moodily in the doorway dreaming of strange wild circuses under tropic skies. Such a stale old dodge as this would hardly have taken me in at ordinary moments.
"For God's sake, Burbank!" I exclaimed. "All these people are watching us." "To hell with them!" he ground out. "I tell you, Sayler, I will be nominated! And elected too, by God! I will not be thrown aside like an emptied orange-skin. I will show them that I am President." Those words, said by some men, in some tones, would have thrilled me.
Marlowe, in worm- eaten calf, dropped from his hand to the porch floor. Sam picked the book up, and sat down. "If you wanted some more money, why the devil didn't you say so?" "I had money enough, sir." "Well what about the drama?" his grandfather demanded. "He said it was no good." "Who said it was no good?" Mr. Wright pulled off his hat, fiercely, and began to chew orange-skin.
"I know this house," he said, pushing past her into the dusky hall; "friend of mine used to live here. Ho! This is the parlor. Well; who's this?" He stood chewing orange-skin and blinking up at Lloyd Pryor, who came forward reluctantly. "My name is Pryor, sir, I " "Oh! Yes. I know. I know. The lady's brother. Here! Push that chair out for me." And Mr.
But I don't know that it would be worth while to take a journey just on account of his writing. He could put it in an envelope and mail it to a publisher; he'd get it back just as soon," Dr. Lavendar said chuckling. "Look here, what's the matter? I can see you're concerned about the boy." "Concerned?" cried Benjamin Wright, pounding the table with his tumbler and chewing orange-skin rapidly.
From the current Narratives, as they are called, readers will recollect, out of this Voltaire Period, two small particles of Event amid such an ocean of noisy froth, two and hardly more: that of the "Orange-Skin," and that of the "Dirty Linen." Let us put these two on their basis; and pass on: Joyous. "It cannot be true, No!
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