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With a sharp cry the lieutenant dropped to his knees. "He can't be dead!" he shrilled. "It is all play-acting, to frighten me!" Frantically he sought to turn the body over. Lanyard's hand shot swiftly out, capturing the automatic on the table.
"Pharaoh is dead!" she shrilled in the tone of women who wail the dirges. "Pharaoh, great Pharaoh is dead! Ere a man may count a hundred thy days are numbered. Strange! but to-morrow, Meneptah, shalt thou sit where Hataska sat, dead on the knees of Death, an Osirian in the lap of the Osiris. Die, Pharaoh, die! But while thy diest, hearken. There is one I love, the Wanderer who leads thy hosts.
As he swung into sight, the distant whistle shrilled again; far off in the distance voices sent up cries of "Head him off!" "Stop that man!" et cetera; then those on the pavement near to the fugitive took up the cry, joined in pursuit, and in a twinkling, what with cabmen, tram-men, draymen, and pedestrians shouting, there was hubbub enough for Hades.
Birds shrilled a fresh, gay carol; the song of the anvil had a new thrill of joy in every inspiring note; the cawing of crows travelled melodiously across the fields, roosters split their throats in vociferous acclaim to the distant sun, and hens clucked a complacent chorus.
But this latter at once launched upon her such a torrent of vituperation, that the girl was frightened to speechless submission. "Oh, oh," she faltered, "I know. I am sorry. I know we owe you money, but where did my mother go? I only want to find her." "Oh, I ain't going to be bothered," shrilled the other. "How do I know?" The truth of the matter was that Mrs.
The Limited's whistle had shrilled for a stop. At the next stop she wondered what lay in store for her just beyond the next stop. While she dwelt mentally upon this, her hands were gathering up some few odds and ends of her belongings on the berth. Across the aisle a large, smooth-faced young man watched her with covert admiration.
"What is that noise?" shrilled Mr. Downing. "Noise, sir?" asked Mike, puzzled. "I think it's something outside the window, sir," said Stone helpfully. "A bird, I think, sir," said Robinson. "Don't be absurd!" snapped Mr. Downing. "It's outside the door. Wilson!" "Yes, sir?" said a voice "off." "Are you making that whining noise?" "Whining noise, sir? No, sir, I'm not making a whining noise."
"Now I know you didn't mean it," said the girl scornfully. "You wouldn't let me touch that nasty old doll of yours again for nothin' you wouldn't," she shrilled at her. "Oh, yes, I would," declared Phronsie, in great distress; "see, I'm going to get her now," and she turned around and hurried over the grass to pick Clorinda off from her resting-place and run back.
Presently the uproar became unbearable. Mr. Wall's whistle shrilled. The noise stopped. "What's the matter back there?" Mr. Wall demanded. "Can't the patrol leader keep order?" "Cut it out, Tim," said Don. "Go on!" Tim answered sullenly. "Say it louder so Mr. Wall will hear you." He slouched through what was left of the hike and did not speak a word to anyone.
As we started to leave the building and hunt for a seat, a small woman, possibly thirty years of age, with a washed-out complexion of the farmer's wife sort, darted up to him in a bird-like way, for all the world like the darting veering gulls over our heads and fastened herself to his arm with the accuracy and dispatch and inevitableness of a piece of machinery. "There you go!" she shrilled.
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