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Old Glasgow Parmiter, the lawyer, the wickedest old man Polchester had ever known, said once of him, "If there's a hell, I suppose I'm going to it, and I'm sure I don't care. There may be one and there may not. I know there's a heaven. Purcell lives there." His voice, which was soft and strong, had at its heart a tiny stammer which came out now and then with a hesitating, almost childish, charm.
There was a drawing in him this morning towards the past, towards even the harsh forms and memories of it, such as often marks a time of emotion and crisis, the moment before a man takes a half-reluctant step towards a doubtful future. But as he journeyed towards the Derbyshire border, he was not in truth thinking of Dora's counsels or of Lucy Purcell at all.
Soon Purcell had Dick and Dave with Fred and himself. Then the other chums drifted up. Two or three other fellows came along. After some sulkiness at first Fred talked eagerly, if nervously. On the whole, he seemed grateful. When Dick reached home that day he felt staggered with astonishment.
When we had crossed over we went to the home of Lieutenant Purcell, where we spent the night, and the next day, Monday, March 27, I arrived at home. I supposed that I should take them by surprise, but somehow they had received intelligence of my coming; and as I approached the house I found them all lined up in the yard, white and black. "And they began to be merry."
As the strain stopped, and the young pitcher came across the field, leaning now on Dave Darrin's arm, the music crashed out again into "Hail to the Chief!" "You see, Purcell. You're getting your share of the credit now," laughed Dick. "The band is playing something about a captain, isn't it?" In the dressing room Dick had abundant offers of help. Fred Ripley was the only silent one in the group.
The thought of Reuben brought with it a certain softening of mood the softening of memory and old association. Yes, he would like to see Uncle Reuben again explain to him, perhaps, that old story so old, so distant! of his running away. Well, he would see him again, as soon as he got a place of his own, which couldn't be long now, whether Purcell gave him the sack or not.
The Spaniards then attempted to board, but were resolutely beaten off. They twice more renewed the attempt; Captain Purcell having prudently reserved half his broadside, they had not the courage to board him.
When Sir Purcell as they passed on spoke a contemptuous word of his soft habits and idleness, Emilia said: "He is one of my true friends." "And why is he interdicted the visit this evening?" "Because," she answered, and grew pale, "he he does not care for music. I wish I had not met him."
Blow and Purcell were employed to perform on that of Smith; Battista Draghi, organist to Queen Catherine, on that of Harris. Immense audiences came to listen, but tho the contest lasted a year they could arrive at no decision. Finally, it was left to Judge Jefferies of the Inner Temple, who was a great musician, and who chose that of Smith. The Church of St.
When Sir Purcell as they passed on spoke a contemptuous word of his soft habits and idleness, Emilia said: "He is one of my true friends." "And why is he interdicted the visit this evening?" "Because," she answered, and grew pale, "he he does not care for music. I wish I had not met him."
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