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Updated: June 25, 2025
Our tender hearts are averse to all ideas and descriptions of parting; and I shall therefore say nothing of Harry Warrington's feelings at taking leave of his brother and friends. Were not thousands of men in the same plight? Had not Mr.
Warrington's lacquey Gumbo, who, knowing the air given out for the psalm, began to sing it in a voice so exceedingly loud and sweet, that the whole congregation turned towards the African warbler; the parson himself put his handkerchief to his mouth, and the liveried gentlemen from London were astonished out of all propriety. Pleased, perhaps, with the sensation which he had created, Mr.
I was afraid the dew might dampen Miss Warrington's dress." "And her enthusiasm also," said Aunt Faith, with a shade of merriment in her pleasant voice. "Certainly not her enthusiasm," replied the young clergyman gravely; "I think it would take more than dew-drops to dampen such enthusiasm as hers."
I let Craig believe that I was you, Paul. I wore your clothes, your scarf-pins, your hats. In that I was a black villain. God! What a hell I lived in. . . . Ah, mother!" Arthur dropped his head upon his arms again. "Paul, my son!" It was Warrington's chair that toppled over. Framed in the portières stood his mother, white-haired, pale but as beautiful as of old. "I am sorry.
Not without a pang of remorse, he laid aside his mourning and figured in a laced hat and waistcoat. Gumbo was always dexterous in the art of dressing hair, and with a little powder flung into his fair locks Mr. Warrington's head was as modish as that of any gentleman in the Mall. He figured in the Ring in his phaeton.
Not to a mere Barmecide dinner no, no but to hear MR. GEORGE ESMOND WARRINGTON'S STATEMENT, which of course he is going to make. Here they all sit not in my lord's grand dining-room, you know, but in the snug study or parlour in front.
He was dressed in deep mourning and called out, "Gumbo, you idiot, why don't you fetch the baggage out of the cabin? Well, shipmate, our journey is ended. I thought yesterday the voyage would never be done, and now I am almost sorry it is over." "This is Mr. Warrington, Madam Esmond Warrington's son of Castlewood," said Captain Franks to Mr. Frail.
Shall I make my confessions? Hearken! Well, then, if I must make a clean breast of it. Here three pages are torn out of Sir George Warrington's MS. book, for which the editor is sincerely sorry. Do we Protestants ever do so; and has education rendered those other fellow-men so different from us?
What shall you do in the event of the strike?" "And I have no desire to be interviewed." "You read Mr. Warrington's letter. Perhaps, if I knew what stand you will take, I could talk to the men myself. I have averted three or four strikes in my time, simply because the boys know that I always speak the truth, the plain truth. In this case I feel that you have the right on your side.
"We haven't found it," replied the detective with a discouraged sigh. "Haven't found it?" repeated Garrick. "Then how did you get this cartridge or, at least why do you connect it with the disappearance of the car?" "Well," explained McBirney, getting down to the story, "you understand Mr. Warrington's car was insured against theft in a company which is a member of our association.
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