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Updated: June 20, 2025
It was then I remembered the four copies of the Daily Mail that Bray had casually thrown into the waste-basket as of no interest. I had glanced over his shoulder as he examined these papers, and had seen that each of them was folded so that our favorite department the Agony Column was uppermost. It happened I had in my desk copies of the Mail for the past week. You will understand why.
He did not know how to address the young woman. Whether to say 'My dear Miss Longworth, or 'My dear madam, or whether to use the adjective 'dear' at all, was a puzzle to him; and over this he was meditating when Wentworth came bustling in. 'Well, said the latter, as John tore into small pieces a sheet of notepaper and threw the bits into the waste-basket, 'how have you got on?
The statesman was then alone, seated before his great desk, with its manifold compartments, and engaged on the task of transferring various papers and letters, some to the waste-basket, some to the flames, some to two great iron chests with patent locks, that stood, open-mouthed, at his feet.
Seward, the Secretary of State. Most gentlemen, I think, would have destroyed it on the spot, as it was not fit for the waste-basket. Some, more cautious, might have smothered it among the piles of their private communications.
Yours, M. N." "Dollops, my lad, I think I'm going to make a man of you," he said as he tore the letter into a dozen pieces and tossed the fragments into a waste-basket. "At any rate, I'm going to have a try. Know anything about Richmond?" "Yuss, sir." "Good.
Roebuck continued to fold the paper upon itself until he had reduced it to a short, thick strip. This he slowly twisted between his cruel fingers until it was in two pieces. He dropped them, one at a time, into the waste-basket, then smiled benevolently at me. "You are right," he said. "You shall have what you want.
Americans cannot sing until they learn that a stomach isn't a waste-basket, to toss everything into. You have been to that throat specialist, Hicks?" "Ah, yes," said Mildred brightening. "He said there was nothing organically wrong." "He is an ass, and a criminal. He ruins throats. He likes to cut, and he likes to spray. He sprays those poisons that relieve colds and paralyze the throat and cords.
"I threw it away," said Patty, sulkily. Priscilla rummaged it out of the waste-basket, and the four bent over it delightedly.
He had not known that they had anything to do with each other. And yet, of course, they would, being the missionaries of the region. The almost empty waste-basket next caught his eye, and here again were several sheets of paper written over with words and phrases, words which at once he recognized as part of the letter Mrs. Tanner had given him.
There were never any matches in the receivers; when the husband wanted one he was obliged to search the house. The newspaper he had folded and left ready to read at leisure was used to light the fire, although an overfilled waste-basket stood near.
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