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Updated: April 30, 2025
His voice was deep and grave and tremulous. "I called you anything but what I most longed to call you what I pray God I may call you, Angela my wife!" There was a wedding at Sandy that winter when Pat Mullins took his discharge, and his land warrant, and a claim up the Beaver, and Norah Shaughnessy to wife.
"I'll just slip in heer," and the amused Shaughnessy tripped lightly to the closet door, drew it open in spite of a momentary resistance from within which he had no time to notice, stepped into a small recess full of shelves and bottles, shut the door, and stood face to face the broad moonlight shining upon her through a small, high-grated opening on one side with Pauline.
"One thing is certain," said the grave-faced post commander, as, with his officers, he left the knot of troopers and troopers' wives hovering late about the guard-house, "one thing is certain; with Wren's own troopers hot on the heels of Angela's pony we'll have our Apache princess back, sure as the morning sun." "Like hell!" said Mother Shaughnessy.
Goodloe, at Little Butte, reports that there was nothing moving on the main line after the passing of the midnight freight east; and Shaughnessy, the track-walker, is just a plain, unvarnished liar: he knows a lot more than he will tell." "Still, you are looking a good bit more cheerful than you were last week," was Lidgerwood's suggestion.
One day he spoke about it to his partner. "Do you think it would be worth while to open up somewhere else in the neighbourhood?" "What would be the use?" said Shaughnessy. "We couldn't get another corner around here." "It wouldn't pay anywhere else, do you think?" "I wouldn't try it," said the other. The approaching change now took on a most serious aspect to Hurstwood.
M. D'Hemecourt entered with Pauline, and the exiles all rose up. Ah! but why say again she was lovely? Galahad stepped forward to meet her, took her hand, led her to the head of the board, and turning to the company, said: "Friends and fellow-patriots, Misthress Shaughnessy." There was no outburst of astonishment only the same old bowing, smiling, and murmuring of compliment.
"Did you see that?" said Shaughnessy one morning to Hurstwood, pointing to the real estate column in a copy of the "Herald," which he held. "No, what is it?" said Hurstwood, looking down the items of news. "The man who owns this ground has sold it." "You don't say so?" said Hurstwood. He looked, and there was the notice. Mr.
"We'll hear, I guess, soon enough," said Shaughnessy. Sure enough, it did develop. Mr. Slawson owned the property adjoining, and was going to put up a modern office building. The present one was to be torn down. It would take probably a year and a half to complete the other one. All these things developed by degrees, and Hurstwood began to ponder over what would become of the saloon.
It fell one day to Manuel Mazaro's lot to discover, by sauntering within earshot, that to Galahad Shaughnessy only, of all the children of the Café des Exilés, the good host spoke long and confidentially concerning his daughter.
One day he spoke about it to his partner. "Do you think it would be worth while to open up somewhere else in the neighborhood?" "What would be the use?" said Shaughnessy. "We couldn't get another corner around here." "It wouldn't pay anywhere else, do you think?" "I wouldn't try it," said the other. The approaching change now took on a most serious aspect to Hurstwood.
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