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He acts sort of dazed and helpless, now and then glancin' appealin' across to Sister Marjorie, or around at Miss Hampton. All that evenin' the attack goes on, Ella May workin' the spell overtime, gettin' Mr. Robert to let her read his palm, pinnin' flowers in his buttonhole, and keepin' him cornered; while the rest of us sits around like cheap deadheads that had been let in on passes.
I felt ashamed, an' didn't know what to do, and, befo' I could wink, Jimmy, dat woman had give me de trip an' shoved me wid a blow like de kick of an ox, and was a-top of my back wid a knee like iron pinnin' of me down." "The awful huzzy of Pangymonum!" "De fust idee I had was dat she was a man dressed up like a woman.
"There!" and he hands a message over to Meyers. "Ha, ha!" says a hoarse voice behind him. Then things happened quick. Rupert makes a sudden pounce. He grabs Dudley, pinnin' his arms to his sides, and starts weavin' a rope around him. "Oh, I say!" says Dudley. "What the deuce?" "Traitor!" hisses Rupert dramatic. "You will, will you?"
Schuyler's desk the pen wiper is a fancy little contraption, but it's clean-I mean it's never had a pen wiped on it. Miss Van Allen's desk hasn't got any pen wiper. On each desk is a pencil sharpener, of the same sort. On each desk is a little pincushion, with the same size of tiny pins, like she was in the habit of pinnin' bills together or sumpum like that.
Her man him that she was to marry was the head of a mine also at Selby, forty miles beyond Bindon, and the horrible plot came home to her with piercing significance. "Without a second's warning," he urged, "to go like that, the man that was so good to my little gal, an' me with a chance to save him, an' others too, p'r'aps. You won't let it be. Say, I'm pinnin' my faith to you. I'm "
We fenced for an hour without bein' able to land, an' then he gets his noose over Hawkins' neck. Before he can draw it tight I rides straight at him; his pony has settled back for a jerk; I gets my noose over the pony's neck, a loop over Andrew's right wrist, when he tries to ward it off his own neck, an' then another loop over his shoulders, pinnin' the left arm an' the right wrist to his body.
There's one joist pinnin' my left shoulder, and my leg's jammed under another; and stir I cannot." Sam lit another match. "I was fearin' " he began, but broke off. "If you could manage, ma'am, to draw up your knee an inch or so or if you wouldn' mind my takin' a pull " "Not at all," said Mrs. Lobb. "I'm used to bein' pinched." Sam gripped the knee-pan firmly, and hauled. "O-ow!" cried Mrs. Lobb.
One sayin' of his is worth pinnin' in your sombrero: 'It ain't nuthin' to kill a man. I don't need much fer thet. But I want to KNOW, you hussy! "Then he went in an' dragged poor Jen out. She'd had time to dress. He was so mad he hurt her sore leg. You know Jen got thet injury fightin' off one of them devils in the dark.
He worried about her not a little those days; and though from a natural delicacy he did not discuss her with Mr. Perkins, he did ask the leader an anxious question: "Could a girl be hurt by pinnin' a hot wad of braid right against the back of her brain?" Mr. Perkins looked surprised. "They all do it," he pointed out. "But s'pose a girl ain't used to it," pressed Johnnie.
"Well, I dunno, honey; yer pinnin' de ole nigger mighty close; de whiskey mout hab sump'n ter do wid it; I ain't 'sputin' dat but wat I stan's on is dis: dem folks wat I seed die drunk, dey nuber had no buckeyes in dey pockets; caze I 'members dat oberseer wat Marse Brunson had, he died wid delirums treums, an' he runned, he did, fur ter git 'way fum de things wat he seed atter him; an' he jumped into de riber, an' got drownded; an' I wuz dar wen dey pulled 'im out; an' I sez ter Brer John Small, who wuz er standin' dar, sez I, now I lay yer he ain't got no buckeyes in his pockets; and wid dat me'n Brer John we tuck'n turnt his pockets wrong side outerds; an' bless yer soul, chile, hit wuz jes like I say; DAR WAN'T NO BUCKEYES DAR! Well, I'd b'lieved in de ole sayin' befo', but dat jes kin'ter sot me on it fas'er 'n eber; an' I don't cyar wat de wedder is, nor wat de hurry is; hit may rain an' hit may shine, an' de time may be er pressin', but ole Rob he don't stir out'n his house mornin's 'cep'n he's got buckeyes in his pockets.
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