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Updated: June 28, 2025
I came up here for peace and quiet, and because I felt a man ought to read something besides time-tables and tradesmen's bills, and have something over his head besides a first and second mortgage." "Back to nature, in other words," remarked Mr. Magee. "Yes, sir back with a rush. I was down to the village this morning for a few groceries, and I stopped off at Quimby's, as I often do.
He flung the door to and locked it, as he thought, but he must have turned the key too quickly, for the bolt of the lock did not enter the jamb, as they afterward found. Meanwhile they felt perfectly secure. The jewels were brought out of Mrs. Quimby's bedroom and laid on the desk. The securities were soon laid beside them.
She haunted Quimby's house, read his manuscripts, wrote letters for the paper, "dropped into verse" and through her extravagance "brought ridicule upon Quimby and herself." Quimby died in 1866, accompanied to his last resting place by a tribute in verse from his grateful pupil. Mrs. Eddy had at the time apparently no thought of continuing his work except in a most modest way.
Eddy is, beyond reasonable debate, in debt to Quimby and in some ways Quimby's original insights have suffered at her hands. None the less, in its final form "Science and Health" is what Mrs. Eddy has made it and it is what it is because she was what she was. She shared with her own generation an absorbing interest in fundamental theological problems.
Peters may be able to amuse them with stories of how Cleopatra whiled away the quiet Egyptian evenings, I says, 'and he may be able to throw a little new light on Helen of Troy, who would object to having it thrown if she was alive and the lady I think her, but, I says, 'when it comes to cooking, I guess he stands about where you do, Quimby. You see, Quimby's repertory consists of coffee and soup, and sometimes it's hard to tell which he means for which."
"For the most part I will prepare my own meals from cans and er jars and such pagan sources. But now and then you, Mrs. Quimby, are going to send me something cooked as no other woman in the county can cook it. I can see it in your eyes. In my poor way I shall try to repay you." He continued to smile into Mrs. Quimby's broad cheerful face. Mr.
At last, however, Dan straightened, stiffened, and there was a quick flash in his eyes. He saw his chance, and now he jumped in at it. His feint reached for Quimby's solar plexus, but the real blow, from Dalzell's right hand, hammered in, all but closing Quimby's other eye. Smack!
Doctor Quimby's been there twice already, and the telephone's been goin', and and My time! you ought to seen her face! 'Twas just as white as as WHERE did I put that letter?" His "pawing" became more frantic than ever. His wife stepped forward and seized him by the arm. "Stop it, I tell you!" she commanded. "Stop it! Who's sick? Whose telephone's ringin'? What letter are you talkin' about?
Tell me the whole story, from beginning to end, will you? Mabel has told me some, but I want to hear it all. Go ahead!" I thought of Quimby's warning. "I'm afraid I should tire you, Mr. Colton. It is a long story, if I give particulars." "Never mind, you give them. That 'tiring' business is some more of that doctor's foolishness. HE makes me tired, all right.
Dan, on the other hand, bore down a bit. Just before the call of time he closed Quimby's right eye. Both Quimby and his seconds were now dubious, though the youngster's fighting pluck and determination ran as high as ever. "I've got to wipe him off the field in this fourth round, or go to the grass myself," murmured Quimby, while his seconds did the best they could with him.
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