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Updated: September 5, 2025
He would be as offensive an object to have in our vicinity as a "free-will" gun or a "free-will" pocketknife. He would not be a rational creature. Our only concern need be for freedom, and this is in no danger in an orderly world. We all recognize this truth, in a way. We hold that a man of good character freely chooses the good, and a man of evil character freely chooses evil.
"I knew that dynamite of yours could n't be shipped in time, so I bought a little up 'ere," he explained, as he cut one of the sticks in two with a pocketknife and laid the pieces to one side.
Notwithstanding his brave appearance he was as useless in a crisis like this as Canby. Pinkey was more of a man than either of them. He would stop that steer somehow if he had only his pocketknife to do it. Her lip curled disdainfully for she had an innate contempt of impotency and failure. She cried out sharply as Aunt Lizzie stumbled and pitched headlong.
I'm going down to Seven Mile to tell what I know." "That's all right. I'll go along and return the pocketknife." Yeager viewed him with stern disgust. "Don't make any mistake, seh. If you go down it's an even chance you'll never go back." "Sure. Life's full of chances. There's even a chance I'm not a rustler." "Then I'd advise you not to go down to Seven Mile with me.
At last, however, after examining all the blades of his pocketknife, he selected one brighter than the others, and loosened the flap of the envelope as gently and carefully as if it had been the petal of a rose-bud that he was opening. "Dear Mr. Vanrevel: "I believed you last night, though I did not understand.
No," said Tom, putting up the hooks again, taking out a large pocketknife, and slowly opening the largest blade, which he looked at meditatively as he rubbed his finger along it. Then he added: "I gave Spooner a black eye that's what he got for wanting to leather me. I wasn't going to go halves because anybody leathered me." "Oh! how brave you are, Tom. I think you are like Samson.
Feldman operated with a pocketknife sterilized in a bottle of expensive Scotch and only anodyne tablets in place of anesthesia. He got the bullet out and sewed up the wound with a bit of surgical thread he'd been using to tie up a torn good-luck emblem. The photographer and writer recorded the whole thing. Chris swore harshly and beat her fists against the bole of a tree. But Baxter lived.
The book was written by one Deucalion, who seems to have been a priest or general or perhaps both and he was an Atlantean. How it got there, I don't know yet. Probably that was told in the last few pages, which a certain vandal smashed up with his pocketknife, in getting them away from the place where they were stowed." "That's right, abuse me. Deucalion you say?
He then went to a large gum-tree, and with his axe cut three large switches, and, after trimming them up neatly with his pocketknife, he ordered me to take off my clothes. I made him no answer, but stood with my clothes on. He repeated his order. I still made him no answer, nor did I move to strip myself.
He dragged the sack of salt as close to the burning chimney as he dared. Then he got out his pocketknife and cut the string. Everybody in the street below was yelling to him by this time, telling him what to do and how to do it. Gummy gave them little attention. The smoke choked him and occasionally a tongue of flame seemed to reach for him.
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