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Updated: June 7, 2025
"La, la," she said, with a whimsical quirk of the head, and no apparent relevancy: "Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home, Your house is on fire, and your children all gone." The remedy was good. Tarboe's eyes came again to their natural liveliness, and Bissonnette said: "My throat's like a piece of sand-paper."
My throat's too full to swallow victuals." "Why, thee canstna get the coffin ready," said Lisbeth. "Thee't work thyself to death. It 'ud take thee all night to do't." "What signifies how long it takes me? Isn't the coffin promised? Can they bury the man without a coffin? I'd work my right hand off sooner than deceive people with lies i' that way. It makes me mad to think on't.
A perfect gravity sat on both their faces during the progress of most of their repartee. "If your throat's so bad, Mr. Halliday, I'll put a kerosene rag round it for you when we get back," Nora said, with a sweet little glance of sympathy that the foreman did not enjoy. Denver, otherwise "Mr. Halliday," beamed. "Y'u're real kind, ma'am.
Bob White's silver whistle, clear and sweet, the White throat's long call of "Canada, Canada, Canada," as though the little patriot could never tell all his love and joy in his beautiful home, the loon's eery laugh far away down the golden channel, and the whippoorwill and the cat-bird and the veery in the tree-tops. It was a wonderful night.
It was no sense of justice that prompted the Big Throat's words; it was the vision of one of the shrewdest statesmen, white or red, who had yet played a part in the struggles for possession of the New World. Greatest of all, only a master could have convinced that hot-blooded council that peace was the safest course. The chief went on: "The Big Buffalo has spoken well to the council.
"I'm all right; only I'm so warm, and my throat's a good deal sore," Ned answered; then he settled back under the blankets, and closed his eyes again. Louise watched him closely for a moment. In spite of Mrs. Pennypoker's assurances, this was not like any form of indigestion she had ever seen, and she determined to send Wang Kum for Dr. Brownlee. From past experience, she knew that Mrs.
"Queer my glims, if that be n't little Paul!" "Ay, Dummie, here I am! Not been long without being laid by the heels, you see! Life is short; we must make the best use of our time!" Upon this, Mr. "Vy, laus-a-me! if you be n't knocked o' the head! Your poll's as bloody as Murphy's face ven his throat's cut!"
My throat's dry," cried Razumihin. "Capital idea! Perhaps we will all keep you company. Wouldn't you like... something more essential before tea?" "Get along with you!" Porfiry Petrovitch went out to order tea. Raskolnikov's thoughts were in a whirl. He was in terrible exasperation. "The worst of it is they don't disguise it; they don't care to stand on ceremony!
"They're handsome tools, Ronald, and with your monogram, I see!" "Yes. Is your f-flask empty, Chichester?" "No, I think not," answered Mr. Chichester, still stooping above the pistol in his hand. "Then give it me, will you m-my throat's on fire." "Surely you 've had enough, Ronald? Did you know this flint was loose?" "I'm n-not drunk, I t-tell you.
It's been a job and my throat's hoarse. But he never got his message through, I can tell you that. Whatever it was he had to tell, I never did find out. I just started interfering, singing, talking, shouting. The ranch never found out what he was trying to say, and neither did I. But, boy, you're just in time. We can see the lights now. What? What's that?" What he heard was a shout.
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