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Updated: May 11, 2025
Browne to the eastward to ascertain how far the ridges extended in that direction, since Mr. Poole's track appeared to be leading deeper into them. On his return he informed me that the ridges ceased at about a mile and a quarter; in consequence of which I turned to the north-east, but the bullocks were now completely worn out and refused to pull.
She could not bring herself to enter and make inquiries; that look of Mrs. Poole's would be hard to bear from men. Her tears were dry now; she stood reading the notices on the board. A man had deserted his wife and left her chargeable to the parish; there was a reward for his apprehension, 'That's the woman's fault, Totty said to herself, 'She's made his home miserable for him.
Suddenly he threw the rake as if he had been throwing down a shield and held out his arms to her. Isabel walked into them, and while they kissed, her father's straw hat slipped back over her shoulders, and she laughed and never missed the fluffy headgear lying in her room upstairs, waiting for Poole's Woods.
On going down to the creek in the morning I found that it had risen five inches, and the ground was now so completely saturated that I no longer doubted the moment of our liberation had arrived. I had made every necessary preparation for Mr. Poole's departure on the 13th, and as the rain ceased on the morning of the 14th the home returning party mustered to leave us. Mr.
It was a cosy kitchen, and Lydia, once seated here, seemed to forget about the shopping of which she had spoken. Mrs. Poole's stream of talk was intimate and soothing; plenty of good sense, no scandal, and no lack of blitheness. But at length it was declared to be the children's bed time, and Lydia made this the signal for rising to take her leave. 'Now do sit still! urged Mrs. Poole.
The Honorable Bertie Raven, second son of the Earl of Runnymede, might have stepped out of one of Poole's fashion-plates, so far as dress was concerned. But there was a strained look on his handsome, patrician face, and in his blue eyes, that told of a gnawing mental anxiety. He linked arms with his companion, and drew him to the edge of the pavement.
All he had was a flashlight, and I broke that over his head. But he tole me the same story about the jailer all except the gun." This testimony was volunteered by Poole's cellmate. Peter removed his cigar and looked at the "damned skunk" more closely. "Why, if it ain't Mr. Poole!" he said. "Sure, it's Poole. What in hell does he mean, then swearin' you into jail and then breakin' you out?"
Poole's reduced state of health rendered it necessary that a dray should be prepared for his transport, and I requested Mr. Browne to superintend every possible arrangement for his comfort. A dray was accordingly lined with sheep skins, and had a flannel tilt, as the nights were exceedingly cold, and he could not be moved to a fire.
It digests its moral. Homer digested his morals. They transfuse his epics. So did Shakespeare. Not so with the writers of the social-conscience school. They are in a rage over wicked, wasteful man. Their novels are bursted notebooks sometimes neat and orderly notebooks, like Mr. Galsworthy's or our own Ernest Poole's, sometimes haphazard ones, like those of Mr.
To Nether Stowey and Tom Poole's house. In the hideous church is a monument to him fairly appreciative, but disfigured by snobbism. 'His originality and grasp of mind, says the inscription, 'counterbalanced the deficiencies of early education and secured him the friendship, etc.
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