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He noticed the change in Henry Ware's nature and he brought it also to the notice of others. It seemed as the brilliant day passed peacefully that Wyatt was right and Henry, for some hidden purpose of his own, perhaps to hide the secret of his long absence, had brought to them this sounding alarm.
As though Jimmy Ware's words had been the cue for which he waited, Morrell here entered the room. At three o'clock in the afternoon of May 14, 1856, the current issue of the Bulletin was placed on sale. A very few minutes later a copy found its way into the hands of James Casey. Casey at that time, in addition to his political cares, was editor of a small sheet he called the Sunday Times.
Why do you suppose he didn't shoot?" "Maybe he wasn't gunning for us after all," suggested Bob. "Maybe you've got another think coming," said Ware. During this short exchange they were all three moving down the wagon trail. Ware's keen old eyes were glancing to right, left and ahead, and his ears fairly twitched.
Veratrum viride does the same thing. How do we know that a rapid pulse is not a normal adjustment of nature to the condition it accompanies? Digitalis has gone out of favor; how sure are we that Veratrum viride will not be found to do more harm than good in a case of internal inflammation, taking the whole course of the disease into consideration? Ware's admirable essay.
She loved them better than any other flowers, and I have made the little hillock almost into a thicket of them. In George Ware's last letter he wrote: "When the baby is ten years old I shall come home. He will not need me till then; till then, he is better in your hands alone; after that I can help you." The One-Legged Dancers.
It was too bad to miss the ducks, he said, but a day's peace in the marshes gave them a chance to accumulate. That evening he talked of Emerson, with whom he had spoken face to face in Concord in that whitest of houses. We shouldn't bring this into our pages if it hadn't been that Ware's talk in that connection interested Thatcher greatly.
The real and insistent demands of the situation had been suddenly struck shadowy while his forces adjusted themselves to new possibilities. "Ware's your man," suggested California John. "He's a gun-man, and he's got a nerve like a saw mill man." "Where is Ware?" Thorne asked Amy. "He's over at Fair's shake camp. He will be back to-morrow." "That's settled, then. How about Welton? Is he warned?
Then she nibbled a caramel from Keith's box of candy. The rosebud sachet-bag which Gay made lay in the box of handkerchiefs that good old Mom Beck had given her. She patted the thick letter from Joyce that told so much of interest about Ware's Wigwam. She intended to have the water-colour sketch of Squaw's Peak framed to take back to school with her.
Once more Ware strove for the Nelson. He was jabbing Jumbo's head and trying to shove it down within reach of his right hand. Suddenly, with a surprising abruptness, Jumbo's head was not there, he had jerked it quickly to one side, and Ware's hand slipped down and almost touched the floor.
I have always thought of Cynthia Ware as a spirit." Jethro turned at the words, and came and stood looking over Wetherell's shoulder at the pictures of mother and daughter. In the rosewood box was a brooch and a gold ring Cynthia Ware's wedding ring and two small slips of yellow paper. William Wetherell opened one of these, disclosing a little braid of brown hair.
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