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Updated: May 28, 2025
He was finishing when she sped by the window and came sparkling into the room with the announcement that the guests from far Cheyenne were coming. Frances was up in excitement; Mrs. Chadron searched the floor for her unfinished sock. "What was that flashed a-past the winder like a streak a minute ago?" Banjo inquired. "Flashed by the window?" Nola repeated, puzzled.
I wonder if he died at Pozieres, or farther on by the Butte de Warlencourt... A week later I saw an advertisement in an Amiens paper: "Horse found. Brown, with white sock on right foreleg. Apply " I have a fancy it was the horse for which we had searched in the rain. The quickest way to the cathedral is down a turning on the right-hand side of the Street of the Three Pebbles.
But say," bringing one of her brown hands down forcibly upon that of her companion, which was concealed in the foot of the woolen sock, and gripping it with nervous strength, "I guess he's reckoned without his bride. I'm not going to marry Lablache, auntie, dear, and you can bet your bottom dollar I'm not going to let him ruin uncle. All I want to do is to stop uncle drinking.
As a rule, he contented himself with straightening each out, but so artfully that Barber would think the sheets had been turned. Sometimes Barber threw a bit of paper or a sock into one bed or the other, in order to trap Johnnie, who found it wise always to search for evidence.
The sun's heat dancing and dazzling across every white fence-post, sandhill, or light-coloured object in the distance. One man takes off his boot and sock, empties half a pint of sand out of them, and pulls up his trouser-leg.
An exclamation from her husband caused her to turn around, as he stepped into the light and held up an old sock filled with something. "Heah, hoi you' apron," said the old man to Polly, who gathered up the lower corners of her apron and stood nearer the bed. "Po' it in dyah." This to Ephraim, who mechanically obeyed.
"Well, we'll hope there won't be any mosquitoes!" said Uncle Andy reassuringly. "And if a yellow-jacket lights on your sock and starts to crawl up under the leg of your knickers, you won't stir?" "N-no!" agreed the Child, with somewhat less confidence. He had had such an experience before, and remembered it with a pang.
"Seven and a quarter," I replied. "Well, it's only piling up evidence," he said cheerfully. "On the night of the murder you wore light gray silk underclothing, with the second button of the shirt missing. Your hat had 'L. B. in gilt letters inside, and there was a very minute hole in the toe of one black sock." "Hush," McKnight protested. "If word gets to Mrs. Klopton that Mr.
After supper he sat in a wicker chair on the lawn with Tasper Britt, who was wearing a new suit of white flannel and who scowled when Vona passed along the walk without even a glance in that direction, though Britt had twitched up his trousers leg to show a particularly handsomely clocked sock. Mr. Harnden did a lot of talking that evening.
I recall also one or two exceptional and infrequent visitors with perfect distinctness: cheerful Elijah Kellogg, a lively missionary from the region of the Quoddy Indians, with much hopeful talk about Sock Bason and his tribe; also poor old Poor-house-Parson Isaac Smith, his head going like a China mandarin, as he discussed the possibilities of the escape of that distinguished captive whom he spoke of under the name, if I can reproduce phonetically its vibrating nasalities of "General Mmbongaparty," a name suggestive to my young imagination of a dangerous, loose-jointed skeleton, threatening us all like the armed figure of Death in my little New England Primer.
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