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Updated: May 21, 2025
He saw that it weighed with the half-dozen solid and slow-thinking men who sat on one side or the other of Mallalieu on the magisterial bench; he felt the atmosphere of suspicion which it engendered in the court.
He was gay, and therefore incomprehensible to a slow-thinking, grave-faced race. "What do I want with a heritage?" he asked, carelessly. "I am mate of 'The Last Hope' and that is all. Give me time. I have not made up my mind yet, but I think it will be No." And oddly enough, it was Colville who preached patience to his companions in suspense. "Give him time," he said.
The young journalist in his upward progress had left the slow-thinking country squire behind him. All they had in common belonged to the past; and, for Christian, the past was of small importance compared to the present. She recollected that during the last fortnight everything had been arranged with a view to giving pleasure to herself, Molly, and Christian, without heed to Sidney's inclinations.
She caused fowls to be slain; she sent for vegetables, and the sober, slow-thinking gardener, nigh as old as she, sweated for it; she took spices, and milk, and onion, with little fish from the brooks anon limes for sherbets, fat quails from the pits, then chicken-livers upon a skewer, with sliced ginger between.
"Wouldn't it be just as well to give 'em back, sir?" Mallory had been at Fort Pentecost a long time, and he understood Athabasca and his Indians. He was a solid, slow-thinking old fellow, but he had that wisdom of the north which can turn from dove to serpent and from serpent to lion in the moment. "Give 'em back, Mallory?
"Wouldn't it be just as well to give 'em back, sir?" Mallory had been at Fort Pentecost a long time, and he understood Athabasca and his Indians. He was a solid, slow-thinking old fellow, but he had that wisdom of the north which can turn from dove to serpent and from serpent to lion in the moment. "Give 'em back, Mallory?
He could lash the wheel safely, and he had in his favor the fact that Oleson, the lookout, was a slow-thinking Swede who notoriously slept on his watch. He found the axe, not where he had left it, but back in the case. But the case was only closed, not locked Singleton's error. Armed with the axe, Jones slipped back to the wheel and waited. He had plenty of time.
He had disclosed his hand, that raven. It was devil's work. Till that moment Cob had never moved, as we have said. Save for his one eye and his quivering, one would scarcely have known that he lived. That was his game, perhaps. Who can tell? For a stolid, slow-thinking gull may have, in his way, just as deep, or low, a cunning as a brilliant-brained raven.
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