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Updated: June 4, 2025
He is accompanied by a servant about sixteen years of age, speaks English without any accent, and passed under the alias of Ramornie. A reward is offered for his apprehension. In a moment I was in the next room, stripping from me the pearl- coloured suit! I confess I was now a good deal agitated.
I got hold of this 'ere William Wallace and took to him right off; I never heard of such a man before! And then you came along, and I took to you. And both the two of you were my born enemies! I I beg your pardon, Mr. Ramornie, but would you mind it very much if you didn't go for to do anything against England" he brought the word out suddenly, like something hot "when I was along of you?"
He pocketed the guineas with the quickness of a conjurer, and, like a base-born cockney as he was, fell instantly to casting dirt. "'Ave your own way of it, Mr. Ramornie leastways Mr. St. Eaves, or whatever your blessed name may be. Look 'ere" turning for sympathy to the stable-boys "this is a blessed business. Blessed 'ard, I calls it.
He is accompanied by a servant about sixteen years of age, speaks English without any accent, and passed under the alias of Ramornie. A reward is offered for his apprehension." In a moment I was in the next room, stripping from me the pearl-coloured suit! I confess I was now a good deal agitated.
He had paid it the compliment of summoning his two sensible married sisters to aid him with their counsel; and even they, though not lacking in decision as a rule, regarded first the Colonel's letter and then their brother with disturbed and doubtful eyes. "He can't be allowed to go on disgracing himself in London; that much is perfectly clear," said Mrs. Ramornie.
'You must teach me it, Mr. Anne I mean, Ramornie. I dissuaded him: alleging that he would find me very imperfectly informed as to the grounds and doctrines of the Church, and that, after all, in the matter of religions, it was a very poor idea to change. 'Of course, my Church is the best, said I; 'but that is not the reason why I belong to it: I belong to it because it was the faith of my house.
"Two hundred and twenty," said Andrew. He was a mine of information on the affairs of his acquaintances, especially on what they paid for things. "Can you not get enough invitations in the meantime?" asked Mrs. Ramornie. "Oh, dozens. But we want a little shoot of our own when we can afford it." "I only mean to build that new conservatory we've always been talking about," said Mrs.
Ramornie. "George caught lumbago at his last funeral Lord Pitcullo's, you know." George was the laird of Pettigrew. Nowadays his wife saw that he mixed with none but the most desirable company, whether it were alive or dead. "Oh, my dear, he must come over for it!" said her sister. "He will," replied Mrs. Ramornie; and they knew that point was settled.
"Not at all: to identify you," said he. "My good sir, remember yourself!" said I. "The title-deeds of my estate are in that despatch-box; but you do not seriously suppose that I should allow you to examine them?" "Well, you see, this paper proves that some Mr. Ramornie paid seventy guineas for a chaise," said the fellow. "That's all well and good; but who's to prove to me that you are Mr.
"Thank you," said the nurse. Andrew planted himself before the fire. "A fine story this is to get about!" he exclaimed darkly. "But surely father must be light-headed," said Mrs. Ramornie. "Umph," he replied. He clearly did not consider this a very creditable excuse. "Or perhaps he is really feeling better," suggested Gertrude. "Better!
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