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Gholson, that you never turned a hand nor an eye to save him?" "Great Scott! wha'd Gholson say?" "Gholson, s'e, 'I done as I done, sir, from my highest sense o' duty. This ain't Lieutenant Helm's own little private war, Lieutenant Quinn, nor mine, nor yours." "Jo'! that to Quinn! wha'd Quinn answer?"
There's nae coontin' the bairns o' the neeborhood, an' nane o' them are so weel broucht up as they micht be." Mr. Traill commented upon this philosophically: "A bairn is like a dog in mony ways. Tak' a stick to one or the other and he'll misbehave. The children here are poor and neglected, but they're no' vicious like the awfu' imps of the Cowgate, wha'd steal from their blind grandmithers.
She says she expects never to get back home, because the world is coming to an end. You would not be surprised at her thinking this if you could see what she has to face. She is a different girl. We are both different. We won't ever be the same again." "Wha'd I tell you?" demanded the judge. "'The war increases in violence dreadful sights, dreadful smells.
When you put a wild horse in a pen, it don't do to prod him and throw things and That's what they've done to me. I bite and kick like any bronc. When you're hurt, constant, you get spells when you've got to hurt back. I've been rotten to her, and now this coming on top of it " "Wha'd that dancin' dude do, anyhow?"
It was undoubtedly the Montague girl. She recognized him, even as she squeezed water from the hair of wondrous gold. "Hello, again, Kid. You're everywhere, ain't you? Say, wha'd you think of that Rosenblatt man? Swore he'd put the steam into that water and take off the chill. And he never."
He, stood for a full minute staring into its interior, then he cried, hoarsely, "Jack!" Berg was on his feet in an instant; he strode to the excavation and bent over it. After a time he straightened himself and turned blazing eyes upon his confederate. Denny met his gaze with the glare of a man demented. "Wha'd I tell you?" the latter chattered. "I told you they'd get it. By God! They have!"
There was something gruesome, uncanny, about the way her fingers went their own way over the defenceless keys. Her conversation with the frowzy little girl went on. "Wha'd he say?" "Oh, he laffed." "Well, didja go?" "Me! Well, whutya think I yam, anyway?" "I woulda took a chanst." The fat man rebelled. "Look here! Get busy! What are you paid for? Talkin' or playin'? Huh?"
But a few steps farther on he touched Fair's arm. "Let's go slower." His smile was ashen. "I h I don't know why in the devil I have these sickish feelings come on me at f-funerals." They stopped. "Humph! Wha'd' you reckon can be the cause of it indigestion?" Mr. Fair thought it very likely, and March said it was passing off already. "Humph! it's ridiculous. Come on, I'm all right now."
"Know anybody by the name of Marquand in this country?" he asked, taking another tack. Juan said he did not, and then Tad gave up his questioning. "I was asking Juan about the two men who sat ahead of us in the train yesterday," he explained to Chunky, as the fat boy joined them. "Wha'd he say?" "One is named Lasar, but he did not know the other one.
"Eagle shot down with its own feather," he said, hazily recalling something that had seemed very poetic when he read it. "Wha'd I tell you? Wha'd I tell you!" shouted the oldest director, doing an intricate dance step. "Hold 'ny Federal?" asked Breede. "A block or two; several margins of it," said Bean. "How many shares?" "Have to ask Kennedy & Balch; they're my brokers.
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