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Updated: June 25, 2025
But it's got to be the truth." "Do you know the nickname of this paper?" "Yes. My father told me of it." "It was his set that pinned it on us. 'The Daily Carrion, they call us, and they said that our triumphal roosters ought to be vultures. Do you know why?" "In plain English because of the paper's lies and blackguardism." "In plainer English, because of its truth. Wait a minute, now.
On the contrary, I received from him, a few days before the paper's removal, a silly and characteristic note: "Since the freak grass has been stopped it seems indicated other abnormalities be terminated also. Your usefulness to this paper, always debatable, is now clearly at an end. As of this moment your putative services will be no longer required.
Of American cocktails he had a fair working knowledge, and he appreciated ragtime. But of the other great American institutions he was completely ignorant. He was on his way now to see Gates. Gates was a comparatively recent addition to his list of friends, a New York newspaperman who had come to England a few months before to act as his paper's London correspondent.
"And you may be sure that the governor's heart bled when he wrote that article. It has been much noticed, and it will do the government a deal of harm. But the governor, you see, knows better than anybody else what line he ought to follow to save both his own position and the paper's."
"I'm thinkin'," O'Hagan pursued, calmly ignoring the presence of the outsiders, "thot these do be the soot that domned thafe av the worruld stole off ye the day, sor. A la-ad brought ut at ayeleven o'clock, sor, wid particular rayquist thot ut be daylivered to ye at once. The paper's tore, an' " "O'Hagan," Maitland ordered sharply, "undo that parcel. I think I can satisfy you now, sleuth.
On the following day the blatant cocks of the shrill "Clarion" stood guard at either end of the paper's new golden text. Dr. Surtaine sat in Little George's best chair, beaming upon the world. By habit, the big man was out of his seat with his dime and nickel in the bootblack's ready hand, almost coincidently with the final clip-clap of the rhythmic process.
Andrew Lauriston. Did you read his name in the paper's account of that inquest?" The American glanced at Lauriston with some curiosity. "Sure!" he answered. "The man that found the old gentleman dead." "Just so," said Zillah. "There are two friends of ours making enquiries on Mr. Lauriston's behalf at this moment. One of them's my cousin, Mr. Rubinstein; the other's Mr.
Here he paused to look curiously at a number of square platforms built out from windows in the business blocks. "For flash-light outfits," explained Waldemar. "One of them is our paper's." "Flash-lights, eh?" said Average Jones. "And there'll be fireworks and the air will be full of light and noise, under cover of which almost anything might be done. I don't like it! Hello! What's here?"
It began to look to him very much as though Queed, through excess of sociological zeal, had allowed himself to be misled, and that the paper's advanced position was founded on theory without reference to existing practical conditions. West keenly felt the responsibility of his post.
Such an expression of unhappiness was enough by itself to make one's eyes slide above the paper's edge to the poor woman's face insignificant without that look, almost a symbol of human destiny with it. Life's what you see in people's eyes; life's what they learn, and, having learnt it, never, though they seek to hide it, cease to be aware of what? That life's like that, it seems.
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