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Updated: May 22, 2025
"So, my fine young fellow, you are a footman, eh, at Hurstley?" "Yes, sir, an' it please you or rather, an' it please my master." "You remember what happened on the night of the late Mrs. Quarles's decease?" "Oh, many things happened; Mr. Jennings was lost, he wasn't to be found, he was hid somewhere, nobody saw him till next morning."
Jennings trying to quiet the noisy animal with the usual blandishments of "Good dog, good dog quiet, Don, quiet down, good dog down, Don, down!" By a Juryman. He would swear to the words. But Don would not hear of being quiet. After that, knowing all must be right if Mr. Quarles's death in the morning.
I think it was when talking about the stolen model that Quarles made the paradoxical statement that facts are not always the best evidence. I argued the point, and remained entirely of an opposite opinion until I had to investigate the case of a pair of pearl earrings, and then I was driven into thinking there was something in Quarles's statement.
He had kept his word, had locked up the empty room, and although I think I had sorely tempted him to break his vow on more than one occasion, I had never quite succeeded. As I got into a taxi I considered how very seldom it is that the ruling passion ever dies. The Queen's Square mystery ought to shake Quarles's resolution if anything could.
Quarles's room: she had had the dog placed there for her special safety, as she slept on the ground floor; and it was not to be thought that Mr. Jennings could do so incorrect a thing as to pass through her room after bed-time, locked or unlocked indeed, when the question was delicately hinted to him, he was quite shocked at it quite shocked. But if he did not go that way, which way did he go?
Horace Bixby, answering a call for pilots from the Missouri River, consigned his pupil, as was customary, tonne of the pilots of the "John J. Roe," a freight-boat, owned and conducted by some retired farmers, and in its hospitality reminding Sam of his Uncle John Quarles's farm. The "Roe" was a very deliberate boat. It was said that she could beat an island to St.
Quarles's identical honey-pot, full of her clean bright gold, and many pieces still encased in those tidy leather bags;" and his round eyes glistened again; but all at once, with a hurried look over his left shoulder, he exclaimed, involuntarily, in a very different tone, "Ha! away, I say! " Then he snatched the crock up eagerly, and nursed it like a child.
Another of these church poets was Henry Vaughan, "the Silurist," or Welshman, whose fine piece, the Retreat, has been often compared with Wordsworth's Ode on the Intimations of Immortality. Frances Quarles's Divine Emblems long remained a favorite book with religious readers both in old and New England.
Quarles's on the island; and how, it being very rotten, yes, and smelling foul, Ben had been fool enough to burn it; what a pity! how could the shawl have got there? if it only could ha' spoken what it knew! And the bereaved gossips mourned together over secrets undivulged, and their evidence destroyed. As to the crockery, for a miraculous once in life, Mrs.
"Good gracious, Ben! why that's Mrs. Quarles's shawl, I'd swear to it among a hundred; Sarah Stack, at the Hall, once took and wore it, when Mrs. Quarles was ill a-bed, and she and our Thomas walked to church together. Yes green, edged with red, and I thought so a yellow circle in the middle; here's B.Q., for Bridget Quarles, in black cotton at the corner.
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