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Updated: July 24, 2025
DeVries, who visited the Jersey coast about 1632, at what is supposed to have been Beesley's or Somer's Point, describes high woods coming down to the shore. Even today, immediately back of Somer's Point, there is a magnificent lofty oak forest accidentally preserved by surrounding marsh from the destructive forest fires; and there are similar groves along the road towards Pleasantville.
Now the judge was accessible to certain forms of fear. He was, for instance, afraid of snakes both kinds and mobs he had dreaded desperately since his Pleasantville experience; but beyond this, fear remained an unexplored region to Slocum Price, and as he examined the scrawl a smile betokening supreme satisfaction overspread his battered features.
"You've got the upper hand, and you'll squeeze me, I suppose. All the same, those who stand back of me will take care of me or I'll explode a bomb that will shatter Pleasantville to pieces!" Colonel Harrington shuddered at this palpable allusion to himself. "And I'm going to sue the railroad company for my smashed foot. What do you want?" "This, Mr.
A place was fixed upon where the doctor and citizens would leave such things as were needed, and Jake could go and get them. Three days passed, and then by bribes and threats and prayers, Frank persuaded the negro to walk to Pleasantville in the night and post a letter to Rev.
The pilot of the amphibian, when he taxied up to the wharf, told Jimmy that arrangements had been made that he land the plane on a field belonging to John Mallory, amateur sportsman and airman, whose estate was close to the home of William Flynn, at Pleasantville. The plane dropped down out of the sky at four o'clock Monday morning, Eastern Standard time.
The package you refer to was legally purchased by the highest bidder, I hold it temporarily in trust for him. It is as safe and sacred with me as if it was the property of the First National Bank of Pleasantville." Colonel Harrington squirmed, got red and pale by turns, gripped his cane fiercely, and then, relaxed with a groan. "It's my property!" he declared. "I can prove it's my property."
The judge always felt impelled to talk at such times, while Mahaffy, by that silence of his, seemed to weigh and condemn whatever he said. The moon had slipped below the horizon. Pleasantville had long since gone to bed; it was only the judge's window that gave its light to the blackness of the night. There was a hoofbeat on the road.
So many sensational occurrences had marked the last twenty-four hours of Bart Stirling's career, that it seemed as though the accumulating series would never end. It was a particularly ragged and miserable-looking arm, and why it could so summarily check, halt and hold the great magnate of Pleasantville, was the problem that now tried Bart's reasoning faculties.
He extolled the climate of middle Tennessee, the unsurpassed fertility of the soil; he touched on the future that awaited Pleasantville; he apostrophized the jail; this simple structure of logs in the shadow of the primeval woods was significant of their love of justice and order; it was a suitable place for the detention of a citizen of a great republic; it was no mediaeval dungeon, but a forest-embowered retreat where, barring mosquitoes and malaria, the party under restraint would be put to no needless hardship; he would have the occasional companionship of the gentlemanly sheriff; his friends, with such wise and proper restrictions as the law saw fit to impose, could come and impart the news of the day to him through the chinks of the logs.
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