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Updated: June 7, 2025
"It wouldn't be wise, with that throat." "But my throat's better. And I've GOT to keep up my lessons, mother! And just a half a block can't hurt me if I bundle up." Missy had formulated her plan well; Kitty Allen had been chosen as an alibi because of her proximity. "Very well, then," agreed mother.
"Ou, ay, ay, ay but a's forgotten now," replied Madge, in the confidential tone of a gossip giving the history of her next-door neighbour "Ye see, I spoke to them mysell, and tauld them byganes suld be byganes her throat's sair misguggled and mashackered though; she wears her corpse-sheet drawn weel up to hide it, but that canna hinder the bluid seiping through, ye ken.
"Please don't be sarcastic," laughed Betty, for Roberta's belongings were all as trim and tailor-made as herself. "How did you get your cold?" "Why K. and I got caught in a miserable little snow flurry," explained Roberta, pulling the pink shawl closer, "and I got my feet wet. My throat's horribly sore. It won't be well for a week, and I can't try for the play."
Let's play his fiddle before he comes back. I've got that last exercise beautifully only my little finger is so beastly short. If I'd been whipped when I was a kid it might have grown there it goes! Hi, Pincher, after him!" The nurse rose and moistened her patient's lips with water. "How is he, nurse?" asked Brigit shortly. "His throat's better, miss my lady. But he's very weak.
"But the ahem! Comte? He must be awake by now." "Ah! I forgot him. Here, give me your hand Thanks Ah! It hurts horribly my throat's better but my arm feels as though it had been screwed out of the joint. Would you mind sheathing my sword? I can't." "I ought to have done it before," said Saint Simon; "but I say, lad, let go. Why, your fingers are grasping it with quite a grip."
I know you're a resolute fellow. Hang it! my throat's still sore where you got that cursed grip of yours inside my collar. You can believe I'm not easily thwarted, or I should hardly be here now. Explain yourself. Let me know your plan. If it is anything like practicable, you and I ought to be able to carry it out."
"And when their turn comes he gi'es them all a penny?" "Yes; that's it all round. So they chaps as goos out allus has some'at to spend." "And a very good way, too," said Joey, chuckling. "Well, I could drink a quaart now, and I've got a penny; s'pose you three chaps all gi'es me one apiece, for my throat's as dry as a lime-basket." The men looked at one another and chuckled.
Before I could reply, the door opening into the courtyard gaped, and the driver entered, followed by a cloud of whirling sand grains. "Nom d'un chien!" he exclaimed. "Get me a tumbler of wine, for the love of God, Fin Tireur. My throat's full of the sand. Sacré nom d'un nom d'un nom!"
"I know, now, what you meant when you were trying to tell me about her smile. She looked at me like that just as I was leaving, and my throat's tight with it yet. She's such a darling! Don't be too much annoyed if I put my oar in once in a while, just to see that you're treating her properly."
He acknowledged in an overbearing way the greetings of the others, and called out imperiously: "'Frony, gi' me a stiff dram o' yer best at wunst. My throat's drier'n a lime-kiln. Bin ridin' all mornin'." "Folks wantin' likker don't say must t' me, but will yo', an' please," she answered sulkily. "'Must, 'please, yo' hag," he said savagely. "Talk that a-way to me.
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