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Updated: May 15, 2025
Now, Judas, being distracted by remorse, found himself, after wandering to and fro, in the potter's field, purchased with the thirty pieces of silver, in the midst of which stood a blasted tree. Then after wildly looking around to see if anyone was near, he said: "Oh, where, where can I go to hide my shame, to escape the torments of conscience? No forest is dark enough!
Any plates left, any basins? Nay, that would be to ask too much of the potter's art. At length we are put round, and running back to Manilla under all the canvas we dare shew. December 31st. Completed with coal and left on a fresh attempt to reach Hong Kong, the black and lowering sky suggesting either the continuation of, or the sequel to, the late stormy weather.
Consider a little, and you shall see that these three things do necessarily fall in, to complete the potter's action in every pot he makes. From these conclusions then, Consider, 1. That the simple act of reprobation, it is a leaving or passing by, not a cursing of the creature. Consider, 2.
So she sank back into her chair, buried herself in her novel, and soon forgot the interruption. Draxy's breakfast and dinner were carried to her room, and every provision made for her comfort. Stephen Potter's servants obeyed him always. No friend of the family could have been more scrupulously served than was Draxy Miller.
I heard of her through Sal you know Sal, who 'angs out at the vest end o' Potter's Lane. I expect to see Sal in 'alf an hour, so if you're comin' back this way, I'll be at the Black Bull by two o'clock, and tell you all I can pump out of 'er." "I'll be there sharp," said Robin promptly; "an now pull up, for I must take to my legs here."
"'Certainly; I heard the turnkey tell him that a day or two would see Hugh in the potter's field with the rest. The doctor had said as much. This was true; he had told me it was useless for him to return, and indeed I thought so too. They buried a half-dozen a day. When told that this man Wynne had jail-fever, the captain seemed in haste to leave.
"Transformed him into a bit of potter's clay. But then?" "Then the old man suddenly saw a glint of gold in the dusty heap." "And the stiffest neck will stoop for that." "Quite true. My Hotepu did so, and the broad gold circlet the lad wore flashed in the sunlight and preserved his life a second time." "The luckiest thing is that we have the lad in our possession."
"Some butler or private secretary will come to the door," he reasoned. "I've got to get in to see a member of the family. There's only Mrs. Potter and her daughter Grace," for, in common with other rich men and those in the public eye, Mr. Potter's family affairs were, in a measure, public property to the New York newspaper world.
He turned to his desk and sat with his head propped in his hands, staring at the little photograph of Wartrace Hall which he had had mounted in a plate-glass paper-weight. The sight gave an added twist to the torture screw and he broke out again. "I've been nothing more than a bit of potter's clay, and the master potter God help me! is my own father! It's all plain enough now.
He looked around the Court-room with his usual defiant air, and no one observed any change of expression, as his eyes passed rapidly over Deb. Smith's face, or Gilbert Potter's. His hard red complexion was already beginning to fade in confinement, and his thick hair, formerly close-cropped for the convenience of disguises, had grown out in not ungraceful locks.
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