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He started to call on your father? Why?" "He wanted to show my father something," said I, with a glance at Mr. Goodfellow. "Are you sure, sir, there's nothing in his pockets?" "Not a penny-piece. I'll search 'em again if you insist, though I don't like the job." "He carried it in his breast-pocket, sir; there, on the left side." "Then your question's easy to answer." Mr.
It made him look at her a moment. "Dear Biddy, your little digs are as soft as zephyrs." She coloured, but she protested. "My little digs? What do you mean? Aren't you in favour of art?" "The question's delightfully simple. I don't know what you're talking about. Everything has its place. A parliamentary life," he opined, "scarce seems to me the situation for portrait-painting."
The question's simply this Herbert Walters, do you or don't you mean to marry me? 'I must temporise, Herbert thought to himself, placidly. 'This girl's quite too unreservedly categorical!
Talk about the press as a moral agent! Why, bless your soul, when one newspaper can reform a whole Piute Indian and make a man of him well, the question's settled, then and there, and the pulpit and the platform ain't in it after that. "We did n't try to reform him in fact, we 'd rather have kept him as he was at first. He was more amusing.
"Come away from the window," said Heywood; and then to the white-haired doctor: "Your question's answered, padre. Strange, to come so quick." He jerked his thumb back toward the river. "And that's only first blood." The others had broken into wrangling. "Escaped? Nonsense Cat and mouse game, I tell you; those devils let him go merely to We'll never know Of course!
"'But isn't Duty a rather early Victorian sort of business, and out of date, anyhow? said my young countryman in Calgary. To the first half of his question there can be no answer but 'Yes. To deny it were to slander our fathers most cruelly. But what of the question's second half? Our fathers have no concern with the answering of that. Is Duty 'out of date, my friends?
"Do YOU know it?" he asked with his eyes still away. "If your question's ironical," she laughed, "your irony's perfectly wasted. I should be ashamed of myself if, with my relationship and my interest, I hadn't made sure. Nanda's fairly sick as sick as a little cat with her passion."
If ye say, lave go, I dhrop thim. 'Twas George won thim with th' shells, an' th' question's up to him." "It looks to me," said Mr. Dooley, "as though me frind Mack'd got tired iv th' Sthrateejy Board, an' was goin' to lave th' war to th' men in black." "How's that?" asked Mr. Hennessy, who has at best but a clouded view of public affairs. "Well," said Mr.
However, she reserved her chief interest for Hen's friend V.V., who was so merciless in his attitude toward those who were not poor. Mr. Pond spoke straightforwardly, not to say bluntly. But she pictured Vivian as shaking the rafters with his shameless homicides and God-pity-yous.... "Once the bread and meat question's settled, money is of secondary importance," said the Director's deep voice.
"First of all, is that maid you speak of, Esther Mawson, reliable?" "I don't know!" answered Nesta. "My mother has had her two years she's a Barford woman. Sometimes I think she's sly and cunning. But I've given her such strict orders now that she'll never dare to let any one see my mother again without my consent." "The other question's this," said Collingwood.
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