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It was Aunt Jemima who came flying upstairs, her eyes popping from her head, her plump hands flattened against her big, heaving bosom, her breath gone in the effort to tell her dreadful news before she should drop dead. "Marse George! who d'ye think's downstairs?" she gasped, bursting in the door of his bedroom, without even the customary tap.
And, Gail, there's going to be the most thoroughly scared gang at the UN and elsewhere that you ever saw, now that what they think's a space-fleet is actually here! We've been decent to the kids, and they think they haven't, so we'll hold out for authority to argue...." A door slammed. Fran said happily: "Let's go!" Motors boomed. The helicopter lifted. It rushed over the village, bellowing.
John Vaughan sprang to his feet and threw his hands above his head in a gesture of anguish: "O my God, you don't understand!" He quickly crossed the space that separated them and faced the President with grim determination: "But I'm going to tell you the truth now and you can do what you think's right.
The poor chap's gone, and we can't call him back; but have you heard tell of the news? Misther `Old-son-of-a-gun' is moighty bad this morning, too, and the skipper think's he's a going too, by the same token!" "Indeed!" I cried, turning towards the tent, seeing Captain Billings standing close by it. The news was too true.
As for Richard, he felt, somehow, as if he had nailed his flag to the mast! "By George, Carson, what do you think's happened now?" Richard Kendrick had come into the store's little office like a thunderbolt. "Well, Mr. Kendrick?" "Benson's down with typhoid. Came back with it from the trip to Chicago. What do you think of that?" "I thought he was looking a little seedy before he went.
Is that the manners you think's polite?" demanded Mr. Jones, testily. Then Monty spoke. "Gr-gram-ma sent me to ask how you w-w-were. I'll go an' tell her." "Won't you stay and play? And, oh, let me tell you. Mr. Deacon Meakin is cleaning up the barn just splendidly, and it will be all ready for you know what!" cried Katy, excitedly, and forgetful of the keen ears of the man on the cot.
Ye hain't even drapped a hint thet any time ye takes ther notion ter talk out ter ther High-cote ye kin penitenshery me but thet's jest because ye knows ye don't haf ter. By God, sometimes I think's hit would well-nigh profit me ter layway you an' be shet of ye." The second voice was purring now, with a hint of the claw-power under the softness. "Thet would be a right smart pity, though.
There was nothing irresolute or shabby in Gaunt's voice, however, as he greeted the old man, clear, thin, nervous. Scofield looked at him wistfully. "Dunnot drive David off, Dody," he whispered; "I think he's summat on his mind. What d'ye think's his last whimsey? Told me he's goin' off in the mornin', Lord knows where, nor for how long.
This life holds few pleasures so agreeable as that of conveying startling news. "Who do you think's marching up the Gully?" I demanded. "I don't know. Who?" asked Monty. "The Munster Fusiliers!" "What? The immortal 29th Division? From Suvla. The dickens! What does it mean?" Before we could decide what it meant my batman came back from a visit to the French canteen at Seddel Bahr.
It come to my mind last night when I seen that bunch movin'. Pretty coarse work I call it, but he thought you was alone and wouldn't ketch on to it." "He'll pay for this!" cried Wallie, chokingly. "You can't do nothin' with him but deal him misery. He's got too much money and pull fer you. Do you know what I think's gnawin' on him?" "My taking up a homestead "
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