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Updated: June 15, 2025
By the investigations herein detailed, it became evident that the old Chimpanzee acquired a size and aspect as different from those of the young known to Tyson, to Buffon, and to Traill, as those of the old Orang from the young Orang; and the subsequent very important researches of Messrs.
He could not have it said that the last words he had written had been an apology and a lie. He tore the papers across, once, twice no time for more and rushed into the desert, his heart beating with the brutal, jubilant lust of battle. Later on news came of that heroic stand made by Tyson and his men a mere handful against hundreds of the enemy.
Binfield was asking where you picked your hunters up got his eye on the kangaroo, I fancy. I ventured to suggest, in my agreeable way, that you bought them by the yard." Tyson looked furious. Louis went on, unconscious of his doom. "Old Morley went for me like a lunatic said you didn't ride like a tailor, you rode like a man. Queer old buffer, Morley couldn't think what was the matter with him."
The idea of leaving England had occurred to Tyson more than once before. In Stanistreet's rooms it took its first vague shape. But Louis's parting words had a sting in them; they were at once a shock to his feelings and a challenge to his will. Stanistreet had read him thoroughly. In plain language he had entertained serious thoughts of deserting Mrs. Nevill Tyson. Desertion? It was an ugly word.
On the page fronting the title of this work the following appears: 17 Die Maij, 1699. Imprimatur Liber cui Titulus, Orang-Outang sive Homo Sylvestris, etc. Authore Edvardo Tyson, M.D., R.S.S. John Hoskins, V.P.R.S. What does this mean?
There was a sharp bitter cry, stifled in the instant of its utterance, and Tyson started to his feet. His mouth worked convulsively. "My God! I don't care who's responsible for this filthy world. Nobody but a fiend could take that little thing and torture her so. Think of it, Louis!" "I'm trying not to think of it. It's damnable as you say, but other women have to stand it." "Other women!"
And she was growing stronger. One afternoon she heard the doctor talking to Nevill in the passage. He uttered the word "change." "Shall I send her to Bournemouth?" said Nevill. "Yes, yes. Good-morning. Or, better still, take her yourself to the Riviera," sang out the doctor. The door closed behind the eminent man, and Tyson went out immediately afterwards.
If he had been nothing to her but the man who knew more about Tyson than anybody else? She had always had a way of making him talk about Tyson, while he seemed to himself to be most engagingly egotistic. And he had once thought that Mrs. There was this summer, and that moment in the library at Thorneytoft Mrs. Nevill Tyson was beyond him. And he had been three years trying to understand her.
Nevill Tyson looked uncommonly happy in the dog-cart; while Tyson spoke to nobody and nobody spoke to him. Poor devil! he hadn't at all a pretty look on that queer bleached face of his. And all the time he kept twisting his horse's head round in a melancholy sort of way, and backing into things and out of them, fit to make you swear. She must have noticed something.
Tyson was a master of the graceful art of symbolism, and Stanistreet had caught the trick from him. At the present moment he would have given a great deal to know how much of all this was a mere playing with words. There was a sound of hurrying feet in the room upstairs, and the two men held their breath. Tyson was the first to recover. "Good God, Stanistreet, how white you are!
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