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"Can you give me, sir, some notion of what Talon & Trehawke are to have?" asked Mr. Gwynn. "Their letter addressed to you here it is says that sixty per cent. of the stock can be had for two millions eight hundred thousand." "Very good, sir," and Mr. Gwynn bowed deeply. Richard pulled on his gloves to depart, whereat Mr. Pickwick yelped frantically from his cushion. Richard tapped Mr.
You are to say, however, that you will give me charge in Washington. Talon & Trehawke can put you in control, and forty-eight hours should be enough to carry out my plans. The balance of the stock you will buy up at your leisure. This is Tuesday; have the bureau here ready for me by Thursday evening." Mr. Gwynn inclined his head.
The parish of Nancepean, of which Mark's grandfather the Reverend Charles Elphinstone Trehawke had been vicar for nearly thirty years, ran southward from the Rose Pool between the main road and the sea for three miles.
His traffic with Talon & Trehawke was successful, and he had bought the Daily Tory. Richard was put in charge of the Washington correspondence. He was given a brace of assistants to protect, as he said, the subscribers; for be it known that Richard of the many blemishes knew no more of newspaper work than he did of navigation. Mr. Gwynn found Mrs.
And what would Parson Trehawke have said to Jesus Christ about the joke he played on the Gadarene swine? There is nothing that irritates a Kelt so much as the least consideration for any animal, and there was not a man in the whole of the Rhos peninsula who did not sympathize with the corpse of William Day.
"Well, it does rather," Mark had replied, and then to his great delight she took a pen and wrote that James Lidderdale had married Grace Alethea Trehawke on June 28th, 1880, at St. Tugdual's Church, Nancepean, Cornwall, and to his even greater delight that on April 25th, 1881, Mark Lidderdale had been born at 142 Lima Street, Notting Dale, London, W., and baptized on May 21st, 1881, at St.
Trehawke, he's a handy chap is Eddowes for the coastguard job.
My gosh, if the Pope asked me to kiss his toe, I'd soon tell him to kiss something else, I would." "My father doesn't kiss the Pope's toe," said Mark. "I reckon he does then," Cass replied. "Passon Trehawke don't though. Passon Trehawke's some fine old chap. My father said he'd lev me go church of a morning sometimes if I'd a mind.
Luckily for the friendship between Mark and Cass, a friendship that was awarded a mystical significance by their two surnames, Lidderdale and Dale, Parson Trehawke, soon after the burial episode, came forward as the champion of the Nancepean Fishing Company in a quarrel with those pirates from Lanyon, the next village down the coast.
They turned to the right across a ploughed field and after scrambling through the hedge emerged in the comparative shelter of the road down from Pendhu. "I hope the churchyard wall is all right," said the Vicar. "I never remember such a night since I came to Nancepean." "Sure 'nough, 'tis blowing very fierce," Joe Dunstan agreed. "But don't you worry about the wall, Mr. Trehawke.
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