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Updated: May 2, 2025
All these are of first-rate excellence; but another remains to be mentioned Glen-Lynden, painted and engraved by Martin, a fit accompaniment for Mr. Pringle's very polished poem. The first prose story is the Election, by Miss Mitford, with the hero a downright John Bull who reads Cobbett.
"Of course," said his father, speaking with his lips tightly compressed, so that his voice sounded muttering and indistinct. Then aloud "Here, Pringle." Scroop went Pringle's stool, and he hurried in. "You call, sir?" "Yes. What time was it when you heard Mr Samuel tell his cousin to go out and post a letter?" "Never heard anything of the kind, sir, at any time."
Horror was stronger than Miss Pringle's resolution to take no further part in the conversation with this extraordinary and apparently unprincipled young man. "Playing regularly, you know. If I hadn't been a fool I'd have stuck to that, but I got bitten with chemi." "With what?" asked Nora, over her shoulder. "Chemin de fer. Never heard of it? I got in the habit of going to Thornton's.
Their arms round him helped warm him. It would have taken them a long time to haul him all the way to his home; but fortunately soon after they came out of Pringle's meadows on to the road, Jakes, the Great Deeping butcher, who supplies also Little Deeping and Muttle Deeping with meat, came clattering along in his cart. Wiggins was quickly hauled into it; and the three of them were at Mr.
Pringle's report, or by any other means, we have no doubt his Highness, on a proper representation to him in our name, will prevent his people from taking any measures detrimental to the Tanjore country, in the prosperity of which his Highness, as well as the Company, is materially interested.
She paused, wondering if she was going to be caught, and if she had better run back and take to the back stairs despite Pringle's well-earned rest; and as she hesitated she heard a sob, then another wild, hysterical sobs. The girl looked startled and then went on, shaking her head. What people like that had to cry about beat her.
We know nothing save what you have spoken of treachery and massacre. Can it be true that the French permitted such abominations? The forest was ringing with the Indian war whoops and the screams of their wretched victims!" A shudder ran through Pringle's frame. "It is too true," he said; "it is horrible unspeakably horrible! Yet we must not blame the French too much.
You look like someone had spread you on the minutes." He eyed Creagan with solicitous interest. Mr. Creagan's battered face betrayed emotion. Pringle's shameless mendacity shocked him. But it was Creagan's sorry plight that he must affect never to have seen this insolent Pringle before. The sheriff's face mottled with wrath.
Phyllis nodded and stared harder at the tiny mitten, and her thoughts raced. For Janet's benefit she voiced them. "The wire screen, first, then Don talking to the caretaker." "When?" Janet interrupted. "The day we went in Taffy's car up to Miss Pringle's. Then I saw him. As we left he went in. Then last Monday, remember, I told you I saw Miss Pringle go in that house?"
As to assisting Maria in any pother, he well knew that would be a vain act of chivalry, and he generally contrived to be insensible to her turmoils. 'Who could that have been in old Pringle's seat? he presently began, appropriating Albinia's cherished morsel of gossip; but he was not allowed to enjoy it, for Miss Meadows broke out,
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