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Updated: June 29, 2025
Friar John, hearing him run on at that mad rate, had no longer the power to remain silent, but cried to him, Heigh-day! Prithee, Mr. Devil in a coif, wouldst thou have a man tell thee more than he knows? Hasn't the fellow told you he does not know a word of the business? His name is Twyford. A plague rot you! won't truth serve your turns? Why, how now, Mr.
He proceeded to take the name and addresses of witnesses and principals, and he detained her as an important accessory. Connery was one of the news-men who had been indebted to Mrs. Twyford for many a half-column of gossip, and he recognized her at once. He was a reporter, first, last, and all the time, and he was very much in need of something to sell.
Edmund recovered his voice and proceeded. "My next request is, that Father Oswald and this reverend father, with whoever else the gentlemen shall appoint, will send for Andrew and Margery Twyford, and examine them concerning the circumstances of my birth, and the death and burial of my unfortunate mother." "It shall be done," said Mr.
About this time it was perhaps in reality a manoeuvre to forward the affair, to which she had no aversion at bottom, with the father of Delia that Miss Cranley gave a grand entertainment, at which were present Mr. Hartley, Mr. Prattle, sir William Twyford, lord Martin, most of the ladies we have already commemorated, and many others. The repast was conducted with much solemnity.
The farm on the right bank is known by the name of Twyford, and so we guess that the creek which leaves the main stream a little way above the ferry once continued its course, forming an island with a ford on either side.
A close examination would have showed many more ingenious safeguards; but the eye of the Rev. Thomas Twyford, at least, was already riveted on what interested him much more the dull silver disk which shone in the white light against a plain background of black velvet. "St. Paul's Penny, said to commemorate the visit of St.
"I have no pockets," said the stranger. Mr. Twyford was looking at the long black gown with a learned eye. "Are you a monk?" he asked, in a puzzled fashion. "I am a magus," replied the stranger. "You have heard of the magi, perhaps? I am a magician." "Oh, I say!" exclaimed Summers Minor, with prominent eyes. "But I was once a monk," went on the other. "I am what you would call an escaped monk.
Sir William Twyford, having thus brought the affair to some degree of forwardness, now waited on his lordship. "My dear lord Martin," said he, "what have you resolved upon? The affair is briefly thus you must either give up Delia, or fight Mr. Prettyman." "Give up Delia!" exclaimed the little lord; "by all that is sacred I will sooner spill the last drop of my blood.
Every succeeding idea was happiness without allay; and his mind was not idle a moment till the morning sun awakened him. He perfectly remembered his dreams, and meditated on what all these things should portend. "Am I then," said he, "not Edmund Twyford, but somebody of consequence in whose fate so many people are interested?
They get stuck on to a foreign princess that's as stiff as a Dutch doll, and they have their fling. In this case it was a pretty big fling." The face of the Rev. Thomas Twyford certainly suggested that he was a little out of his depth in the seas of truth, but as the other went on speaking vaguely the old gentleman's features sharpened and set.
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