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Updated: July 24, 2025
The inhabitants of Bengal are of mixed Dravidian, Mongolian, and Aryan origin, and in no other speech of India, writes Sir H. Risley, is the literary language cultivated by the educated classes more widely divorced, not only from the many popular dialects spoken in the province, but from that of ordinary conversation. Literary Bengalee is not even an altogether indigenous growth.
It's quite possible that some information may be gleaned from them which would give us a basis to go to work upon." "It's no good stopping here," said Risley. "When shall we start?" "To-night," said Jack, and, being near the station, they turned in to look up the time of the fast express. Jack glanced along the platform, and soon found what he sought, one of Cook's interpreters.
But before I could speak up and take his part, for I will not hear my companion found fault with by any female but myself, she had gathered up her robe, and swept upstairs with it, leavin' orders for a flatiron to be sent up. Wall, the believers wuz all a-goin' to meet at the Risley school-house that afternoon. They wuz about 40 of 'em, men and wimmen.
First thing, if so we'd ha' found the Professor, for all they wanted was the stone; they'd no use in the world for his body. But there's a lot more in it than that. They want the Professor himself. It's a dead sure thing that where that big stone came from there's a lot more, and they intend to make him show them the place." "Ah," said Mr. Buxton, "there's a good deal in that, Risley.
"When did you see her?" asked Mrs. Lloyd. Cynthia opened her mouth as if to speak, then she glanced at Risley, whose eyes held her, and laughed instead a strange, nervous laugh. Happily, Mrs. Lloyd did not wait for her answer. She had her own important information to impart. She had in reality stopped for that purpose. "Well, I have seen her," she said.
Sadie Peel sped on with her news to a group of girls ahead, and the wheels of the carriage flashed out of sight in the spring sunlight. It was quite true that Risley and Cynthia had been married that morning.
Jack and his companion left the cab at once and went into the lobby, where the porter came out of his office. "Hullo, Mr. Risley, you are back again," said the porter. Then he caught sight of Jack, whose face was very well known from frequent visits to his father. The question which had plainly been on the porter's lips was at once checked.
"Well, Ellen Brewster," said Sadie Peel, in her loud, strident voice, "I guess you wouldn't have been walkin' along here quite so fine this mornin' if it hadn't been for Mr. Risley. You'd ought to send him a weddin'-present a spoon, or something." "Shut up," said Abby Atkins; "Ellen has worried herself sick over him as it is." She eyed Ellen anxiously as she spoke. Maria clung more closely to her.
Risley is not in earnest, and speaks with the deadly intent of an anarchist with a bomb in his bag? He is the most out-and-out radical in the country. If there were a strike, and I did not yield to the demands of the oppressed, and imported foreign labor, I don't know that my life would be safe from him." "Then you do approve of a higher education?" asked the school-master, while Mrs.
Nellie Stone, at the desk, was glancing around, with a half-shy, half-coquettish look. "How is Mr. Risley?" asked Flynn. "He is badly hurt," replied Robert. "Have they found the man? Do you know what has been done about it?" "They've got all the police force of the city out," replied Flynn, "but it's no use. They'll never catch Amos Lee. His mother was a gypsy, I've always heard.
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