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Updated: June 25, 2025
Len had no particular desire for his father's undiluted company. "Good morning, Pa!" Lydia said, with a kiss for his cool forehead. "Your paper's right there by the fire; there's quite a fog, and it got wet." Hands locked, she settled herself opposite him, and revolved in her mind the terms in which she might lay before him the younger girls' hopes.
I went in to turn down the bed, and he was sitting by the window, reading the evening paper's account of the trial an elderly gentleman, rather professional-looking. Mr. Holcombe slept on the upper landing of the hall that night, rolled in a blanket not that I think his witness even thought of escaping, but the little man was taking no chances. At eight o'clock that night the bell rang. It was Mr.
Presley's Socialistic poem, "The Toilers," had an enormous success. The editor of the Sunday supplement of the San Francisco paper to which it was sent, printed it in Gothic type, with a scare-head title so decorative as to be almost illegible, and furthermore caused the poem to be illustrated by one of the paper's staff artists in a most impressive fashion.
Why? They been busting up threshing machines acrosst the range the paper's been full of it. Why? They've got in here, and that's all about it. Well, fellers, you reckon we're goin' to stand fer this sort of Bolshevik business on the Two-Forks?"
Your paper's your father and your mother and your wife and your children! Oh, go to bed, out of my sight, or I'll forget myself!..." John walked towards the door. "I'd rather love a woman any day than a paper," he said. "Well, go and love her then, and don't try to interfere with a paper again! Don't come down Fleet Street pretending you're a journalist!" "Good-night!" "Yah-h-h!" said Hinde.
The breakfast rations consisted of Army bread heavy lumps of a doughy elasticity one would think only within the range of badness of a comic paper's 'Mrs. Newlywed' flint-hard biscuits, cheese, and tea.
They would lie there, the two old ones, talking comfortably about commonplace things. "Remind me to see Gerson to-morrow about that lock on the basement door. The paper's full of burglars." "If I think of it." She never failed to. "George and Nettie haven't been over in a week now." "Oh, well, young folks.... Did you stop in and pay that Koritz the fifty cents for pressing your suit?"
Hooker, Harriet Beecher Stowe was persuaded to consider serving as contributing editor provided the paper's name was changed to The True Republic or to some other name satisfactory to her. Having struggled against the odds for so long, Susan had no intention of being stifled now by Mrs. Stowe's more conservative views, nor would she give her crusading sheet an innocuous name.
After their return from Bishopsbridge, Trent had written a long dispatch for the Record, and sent it to be telegraphed by the proud hands of the paper's local representative. This morning as he scaled the cliff he told himself that he had never taken up a case he liked so little, or which absorbed him so much.
"Aweel, lassies, comes a letter to Bassanio; he reads it, and turns as pale as deeth." A Fishwife. "Gude help us." Christie. "Poorsha behooved to ken his grief, wha had a better reicht? 'Here's a letter, leddy, says he, 'the paper's the boedy of my freend, like, and every word in it a gaping wound." A Fisherman. "Maircy on us." Christie. "Lad, it was fra puir Antonio, ye mind o' him, Lasses.
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