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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Have I known you all these years to be fooled now? Smelling rats 'ud be subtle to it I can feel the air bristling! You mean to raise the Montdidier banner and die under it, last of your race. But you're not last, you bally ass!" "Last in the direct line, Fred." "Yes, but there's that rotter Charles ready to inherit! If you're bent on suicide " "I'm not. You know I'm not."
In him was born a desire and a resolve to stand beside his father in this conflict and if the battle went against them, to share in the defeat. "Dad," cried his son impulsively, "I am a rotter. I have been of no help to you, but only a burden. I had no idea the situation was so serious." Remorse and alarm showed in his tone. "Don't misunderstand me," said his father.
Desmond pointed out that the consequences of his refusal were likely to concern her very much indeed. As for Captain Drayton and the Moving Fortress, nobody but a supreme idiot would have done what Nicky did. But Nicky absolutely refused to discuss what he had done. Nobody but a cad and a rotter would have done anything else. In the matter of the Moving Fortress what had happened was this.
It's plainly not your métier." He paused, but with the air of having something more to say. Toby waited silently. It came with a jerk and a grimace, as if some inner force compelled. "I can't talk pi-jaw on this subject or any other. You see I'm a rotter myself." "You, sir!" Toby lifted his head suddenly and stared at him with eyes that blazed passionately blue in the starlight.
"What is the matter, Vernon?" she asked abruptly. "You haven't been at all like yourself these last few days. We're pals, you know; tell me." He glanced up, hastily shifted his eyes, and then blurted out desperately. "If you'd ever been an absolute rotter and then got on to the fact when it was too late, I guess you wouldn't be very much like yourself, either.
You see, Payson Clifford, having been sent to a decent school and a decent college, irrespective of whether his father was a rotter or not, had imbibed something of a sense of honor. Struggle as he would against it, the shadow of Sadie Burch kept creeping athwart his mind. There were so many possibilities! Suppose she was in desperate straits? Hadn't he better look her up, anyhow?
Praed: "Well to sum him up briefly he was what school boys and subalterns would call 'a rotter. Not without an almost mordid cleverness; but the Welsh strain in him which in the father turned to emotional religion the father was Vicar or Rector of Pontystrad came out in the boy in unhealthy fancies. He had almost the talent of Aubrey Beardsley.
He always had an eyeglass and wonderfully cut clothes, and his hair was brushed back till it was as shiny as a billiard ball. I put him down, as did everyone else, as an out-and-out rotter, and held him up as an example of our decadent aristocracy. "When I went out to the front, our Regular battalion was full up, and I was sent to a Welsh regiment instead.
The prayers of those boys would have made a book. There were no old-fashioned phrases. You know what I mean—people begin at a certain place and there is no stopping them till they get to another certain place. One of these boys began, “Please God, You know I’ve been a rotter.” That’s the way to pray. That boy was talking to God and the Lord was very glad to listen.
When the captain sent Boyle down from the bridge, Elsie made Tollemache repeat it a simple yarn, detailing an all-night search for a Devonshire village, which he could not find because some rotter had deemed it funny to turn a sign-post the wrong way round. "Huh, that's odd," said Boyle. "Reminds me of a thing that happened to a friend of mine, skipper of the Flower of the Ocean brig.
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