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Updated: May 9, 2025
It had grown, and still was growing, both broader, and longer, and deeper. Pugh, of course, would have attributed it to supernatural agency; there never was a man with such a nose for a ghost. I could picture him occupying my position, shivering in his nightshirt, as he beheld that miracle taking place before his eyes.
"I told you so." I paid no attention to Pugh. "What will you give me for it?" "Do you mean, what will I give you for it cash down upon the nail?" "Just so what will you give me for it cash down upon the nail?" The man turned the crystal over and over in his fingers. "Well, that's rather a large order. We don't often get a chance of buying such a stone as this across the counter.
Edwin Pugh says of a child of the slums who was passionately fond of reading cheap literature: "It was by means of this penny passport to Heaven that she escaped from the Hell of her surroundings. It was in the maudlin fancies of some poor besotted literary hack maybe, that she found surcease from the pains of weariness, the carks and cares of her miserable estate."
I took what he held out to me. It was an oblong box, perhaps seven inches long by three inches broad. "Where's the puzzle?" I asked. "If you will examine the lid of the box, you will see." I turned it over and over; it was difficult to see which was the lid. The words were so faintly printed that it was not surprising that I had not noticed them at first. Pugh explained.
He is deft, apt, sprightly, and always sincerely a man. He is just and brave, and essentially a gentleman. He has the right imitative romance, and he can so blend Defoe and Dickens with a something of himself which is almost, but not quite, creative, that he can present you with a blind old Pugh or a John Silver. He is a littérateur born and made. A verbal invention is meat and drink to him.
"Here," cried he, returning in about five minutes, quite out of breath, "I've got the shuttlecock; and I'll tell you what I've seen," cried he, panting for breath. "What?" cried everybody, eagerly. "Why, just at the turn of the corner, at the end of the lane" panting. "Well," said Tarlton, impatiently, "do go on." "Let me just take breath first." "Pugh never mind your breath."
"Yah," said Herr von Mandelbaum through the smoke. John looked at the spokesman. "You are from England, Mr. Pugh?" "Yes, sir. I am a British citizen." "Suppose some enterprising person began to run a gambling hell in Piccadilly, would the authorities look on and smile?" "That is an entirely different matter, sir. You are quibbling. In England gambling is forbidden by law." "So it is in Mervo, Mr.
"My pride for women, to say nothing of my conscience," she insisted, "says no." Lucy Stone to Esther Pugh, Aug. 30, 1869, Ida Husted Harper Collection, Henry E. Huntington Library, San Marino, California. Mary Livermore to W. L. Garrison, Oct. 4, 1869, Boston Public Library.
"In love with Lily Lily Deford? did she think I was a " "She did. She felt about you very much as really fine women would feel could they look down from the battlements of heaven and see the sort of things their husbands frequently bring home to take their place. You have been seen with Lily morning, noon, and night when she wasn't with that Pugh boy, who they say is in love with her, and "
There's no harm in him, handled right, but he's a kid, and you want to make allowances." "I'm obliged to you, and I'll do it. Jack Pugh and Glass have started out after him already. They allow to prospect 'round in the hills till they find him. That's what I'll do with McHale." Casey considered, and suddenly came to a decision. "Anybody going with you?" "No." "Don't you want a deputy?"
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