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Updated: May 15, 2025
Promising that she would tell "the missus," the little servant showed him into a tiny sitting-room, very clean and bright, with blue cretonne curtains and a blue carpet and an engraving of "King Cophetua and The Beggar Maid" over the mantelpiece. Directly you came into the room, everything in it got up and shouted "Tottenham Court Road."
They went round by the Tottenham Court Road to buy a piece of waterproof sheeting to put over the Psammead in case it should be raining in the Past when they got there. For it is almost certain death to a Psammead to get wet. The sun was shining very brightly, and even London looked pretty.
Meet me will you? at the office to-morrow night, say at eight o'clock." This letter would reach Tottenham on Monday morning. Waymark went to the office at the hour he had mentioned, and waited till ten o'clock. But Mr. Woodstock had not been in St. John Street Road that day, and the waiting was in vain. The garden-party had not been without its effect upon Mr. Woodstock.
The same penholder that has lain against my forefinger day after day, for how many years? Twenty, at least; I remember buying it at a shop in Tottenham Court Road. By the same token I bought that day a paper-weight, which cost me a whole shilling an extravagance which made me tremble. The penholder shone with its new varnish, now it is plain brown wood from end to end.
Nevertheless I sometimes notice a spirit of inquiry, a note of investigation in her encounters with the opposite sex that suggests an expectation not yet extinct that another and perhaps a more appreciative Dacres Tottenham may flash across her field of vision alas, how improbable!
Upwards of 40 Cows belonging to one at Tottenham Court, universally lamented by all their Acquaintance." On a notice of an anniversary meeting of the Society for propagating the Gospel in Foreign Parts there is the pertinent comment "It is a Pity some Method was not invented for the Propagation of the Gospel in Great Britain."
'Mamma has such strong prejudices, Cecily remarked, as she reluctantly gave up the idea; and I waited to see whether the graceless Tottenham would unmurmuringly take down the Bakewells. How strong must be the sentiment that turns a man into a boa-constrictor without a pang of transmigration! But no, this time he was faithful to the principles of his pre-Cecilian existence.
That evening the sisters arrived from their country home. Micklethwaite gave up the house to them, and went to a lodging. It was with no little curiosity that, on the appointed morning, Barfoot repaired to South Tottenham. He had seen a photograph of Miss Wheatley, but it dated from seventeen years ago.
And if Lord Tancred could have seen her then he would have known that all the courage he had used when he faced the big lion would be needed soon again. But before a servant brought up the envelope with the notes she had calmed herself and was preparing to go out. The good part of the news must be told to the two poor ones in their Tottenham Court Road retreat.
Mr Tottenham now commenced firing as fast as the spare hand could load for him, being just able to keep way with the brig. Four of the men on board the brig having been hit, her crew left the gun, and after firing muskets for twenty minutes, finding that they were unable to weather the land or tack without being boarded by the boat, they ran the brig on shore.
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