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But Webber shoved him roughly on into a clump of squat trees that were the color of sherry wine, with flat thick leaves. "Don't move," he said. Paula was hugging a tree beside him. She nodded to him to do as Webber said. "They have very powerful scanners." She pointed with her chin. "Look. They've learned." The harsh warning barks of the men sounded faintly, then were hushed.
They hung again, bounding lightly on the unseen wind. Then down. And hang again. And down. Paula said suddenly, "Webber. Webber, I think he's dying." She began to unstrap. Kieran said faintly, "Am I turning green?" She looked at him, frowning. "Yes." "A simple old malady. I'm seasick. Tell Webber to quit playing humming-bird and put this thing down."
There was a roar from the ditches, and a shout from the gunners, and we saw a rolling grey cloud before us, with a score of busbies breaking through the shadow. Then we closed up again, while the growling ahead of us grew louder and deeper than ever. "There's three batteries there," said the sergeant. "There's Bull's and Webber Smith's, but the other is new.
Say, I'll tell you what we'll do: I'll wait a little, and then send Field to the store and have him git whatever you need, and pretend it's all for himself. Then we'll lug it up the hill and slide it into the cabin slick as a lead two-bits." "Can't let you do it," said Jim. "Why not?" demanded Webber. Jim hesitated before he drawled his reply.
Hoskyn, beginning to wonder whether Cashel could be some well-known eccentric genius. "He is very odd. I hope Mr. Webber is not offended." "He is the less pleased as he was in the wrong," said Lydia. "Intolerant refusal to listen to an opponent is a species of violence that has no business in such a representative nineteenth-century drawing-room as yours, Mrs. Hoskyn.
By the time he reached the cliffs he was forced to pull a handkerchief out and mop himself; but without a pause, he took the turning westward towards Troy harbour, and tramped along sturdily. For his mind was made up. Ship's-chandler Webber, of Troy, was fitting out a brand-new privateer, he had heard, and she was to sail that very week.
Webber was returning with a pocket well lined with copper from a musical reunion he had held at the corner of York Street, when the idea struck him to stop at the end of Grafton Street, where a huge stone grating at that time exhibited perhaps it exhibits still the descent to one of the great main sewers of the city.
Webber hunting him in person! He ducked out of the doorway, turned and ran madly in the opposite direction, searching for an up escalator he could catch. Behind him he heard shots, heard the angry whine of bullets past his ear. He breathed in great, gasping sobs as he found an almost empty escalator, and bounded up it four steps at a time.
He was descended from old Cobus Webber of the Brille in Holland, one of the original settlers, famous for introducing the cultivation of cabbages, and who came over to the province during the protectorship of Oloffe Van Kortlandt, otherwise called the Dreamer.
"They're very kind among themselves," Paula said defensively. To Kieran she added, "I doubt if they were trying to kill you. They just wanted to drive you away." "Oh, well," said Kieran, "in that case I wouldn't dream of disappointing them. Let's go." Paula glared at him and turned to Webber. "Talk to them." "I hope there's time," Webber grunted, glancing at the sky. "We're sitting ducks here.
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