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Updated: June 21, 2025
Speak to the poor devil, Fielding," he added quickly, in a low tone. Fielding turned in his saddle. "Seven's the hour," he said, and rode on. "Thanks, you fellows," said the Lost One, and walked swiftly away. As they rode to the Amenhotep Dicky did not speak, but once he turned round to look after the outcast, who was shambling along the bank of the canal.
The Brimley Bomefields, tired of watching disaster from a distance, drew near to the table where their aunt was now an honoured habituee, and gazed mournfully at the successive victories of one and five and eight and four, which swept 'good money' out of the purse of seven's obstinate backer. The day's losses totalled something very near two thousand francs.
Many and many a time I have said, after glancing at the back of a letter, "This comes from an insane asylum, or from an eccentric who might well be a candidate for such an institution." Number Seven's manuscript, which showed marks of my corrections here and there, furnished good examples of the chirography of persons with ill-mated cerebral hemispheres.
"You're goin' to answer for that job of the other night." Paul went to his desk in his corner, and turned over the leaves of the ledger. "Go and tell Fanny I want order 097, quick!" he said to his boy. Dawes stood in the doorway, tall and threatening, looking at the top of the young man's head. "Six and five's eleven and seven's one-and-six," Paul added aloud. "An' you hear, do you!" said Dawes.
The dice went rattling on; the candles were burning dim, with great long wicks. "Seven's the main," cried the Count. "Four. Three to two against the caster." "Ponies," said the Warwickshire Squire. Rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, clatter, NINE. Clap, clap, clap, clap, ELEVEN. Clutter, clutter, clutter, clutter: "Seven it is," says the Warwickshire Squire. "That makes eight hundred, Count."
Many and many a time I have said, after glancing at the back of a letter, "This comes from an insane asylum, or from an eccentric who might well be a candidate for such an institution." Number Seven's manuscript, which showed marks of my corrections here and there, furnished good examples of the chirography of persons with ill-mated cerebral hemispheres.
Eight might make it a bit crowded, but she's a big, roomy boat and I think we could do with seven fellows all right. And seven's a lucky number, too. So suppose we take in one more while we're at it?" "The more the merrier," agreed Joe. "Who have you got in mind?" Steve shook his head. "No one, but I guess we can think of a fellow. There's "
If they do, they must have lungs and air passages, of course. Think of an angel with the influenza, and nothing but a cloud for a handkerchief!" This is a good instance of the way in which Number Seven's squinting brain works. You will now and then meet just such brains in heads you know very well. Their owners are much given to asking unanswerable questions.
Muir wired half an hour ago: 'Floods on the Ramgunga. Look out. Well, that gives us one, two nine and a half for the flood to reach Melipur Ghaut and seven's sixteen and a half to Lataoli say fifteen hours before it comes down to us." "Curse that hill-fed sewer of a Ramgunga!
In the mean time, we must not let the love-making and the song-writing interfere with the more serious matters which these papers are expected to contain. Number Seven's compendious and comprehensive symbolism proved suggestive, as his whimsical notions often do.
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