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Updated: June 7, 2025
This recurrence of the mysterious message, of which no trace could be found in the head-quarters record, opened a fresh field of discussion, and it was McCloskey who put his finger upon the only plausible conclusion. "It is Hallock again," he rasped. "He is the only man who could have used the private code. Dix probably picked out the cipher; he's got a weakness for such things.
She stood and watched the camel slither across the desert at that animal's almost incredible speed; then turned, sat down on the edge of her litter, took out her bejewelled Louis XV snuff-box, rasped a match on the sole of her crimson shoe, and lit a Three Castles with her eyes on the track left by the hoofs of two horses. Yes! Two.
"Although I am no longer in charge of this case," rasped the fat man, "I suppose there is no objection to my rendering my distinguished associate," he bowed mockingly to M. Paul, "such assistance as is in my power." "Of course not," replied Hauteville. "I happened to hear that this American has a room on the Rue Racine and I just looked in there."
"What a place for languishing eyes and necks of ivory, Maskull!" rasped Krag mockingly. "Why isn't Sullenbode here?" Maskull gripped him roughly and flung him against the nearest tree. Krag recovered himself, and burst into a roaring laugh, seeming not a whit discomposed. "Still what I said was it true or untrue?" Maskull gazed at him sternly. "You seem to regard yourself as a necessary evil.
There was the hissing sound of doors closing. The peculiarly-muffled silence of a closed compartment fell. The Pretender said quietly, "If this is the Mekinese fleet, everything is solved. But your friends of Talents, Incorporated will have to be wrong. They insist the grand fleet will not come here." Bors rasped, "I wish I were in that control room!
Rufus Applesnack had been listening to the talk, and now he gave Crabtree a jab in the ribs. "He's gut ye, deacon he's gut ye!" chuckled the grocery man. "He's gut ye right where the wool is short!" "I fail to see it! I fail to see it!" rasped Crabtree. "There ain't no similarity in the two cases. My mind is made up on the point, and I don't propose to change it."
This was the brandishing of an old weapon, and she understood all its significance. It meant that the time for opportunities was slipping past her like the waters of a rapid river. "I do not know what will happen when I leave Broome Haughton," her mother added, a note of rasped uncertainty in her voice. "We may be obliged to come here for a short time, or we may go abroad."
The wind rasped and scraped at the corners of the house, and filliped the eavesdroppings like peas against the panes. He walked restlessly about the untenanted rooms, stopping strange noises in windows and doors by jamming splinters of wood into the casements and crevices, and pressing together the leadwork of the quarries where it had become loosened from the glass.
"I got my head rasped, too, against the stones overhead, and it's bleeding fast. Look at it, will you?" Aleck examined the place, after opening the door of the lanthorn. "It isn't bleeding," he said. "Don't talk nonsense," cried the middy, irritably. "It smarts horribly, and I can feel the blood trickling down the back of my neck." "That's water out of your hair." "Are you sure?" "Yes, certain.
Then, after Ramoni had been silent long moments, he spoke. "You did not pray, my son?" "Pray?" Ramoni's laughter rasped. "How can I pray? My life is ruined. I am ashamed even to meet my brethren in the chapel." "And yet, it is God one meets in the chapel," the old man said. "God, and God alone; even if there be a thousand present." "God?" flung back the missionary. "What has He done to me?
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