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Updated: June 26, 2025
Chief of Fire Department killed in his bed, or as good as killed. There's plenty left to fight the fire but nothin' to fight it with. Guess the old town'll go up in smoke this time." "My knees feel rather weak, too," said Gwynne. He turned to the wharfinger, who was pulling leisurely at his pipe. "We my mother and Miss Otis, at least, may need this launch to leave the city with," he said.
My father, then some time deceased, had been a wharfinger at Liverpool, and it was quite possible that Mahmoud might have found himself at that port. Mahmoud had heard of my arrival in Egypt, and had been given to understand that I was coming to Suez to carry myself away in the ship, as the interpreter phrased it. This I could not understand, but I let it pass.
"You bet he bane," McGuffey retorted. "Ain't he the old kiddo, Scraggsy? Ain't he? This feller Adelbert P. Gibney's a farmer, I guess." With the assistance of the wharfinger an automobile was summoned, and in due course the members of the syndicate found themselves ensconced in a fashionable suite in San Francisco's most fashionable hotel. Mr.
Winkle's residence. 'Close by, Sir, said the waiter, 'not above five hundred yards, Sir. Mr. Winkle is a wharfinger, Sir, at the canal, sir. Private residence is not oh dear, no, sir, not five hundred yards, sir. Here the waiter blew a candle out, and made a feint of lighting it again, in order to afford Mr. Pickwick an opportunity of asking any further questions, if he felt so disposed.
That made him a bit careful and vexed. And ill-luck made him meet a brother captain that night, and of course they had "a time" together, and Proctor was driven down in a cab to the ship and helped up the gangway by a wharfinger and a deck hand. The next morning he was asked to resign, and from that day his career was damned.
"I wish you'd stay here a minute with Nettie Vollar," Jeremy told her, "while I see the wharfinger." He went unhurried along the wharf, and Laurel Ammidon drew closer to her. "She's not much of a ship either," Laurel said, indicating the Rose and Rosalie. "She's built like like grandfather. They're different now.
A slow, sonorous voice was proclaiming aloud that victory had been adjudged to Stephen Kiesslinger, born in the burgh of Antwerp, son of a wharfinger in that town. When Nello recovered his consciousness he was lying on the stones without, and Patrasche was trying with every art he knew to call him back to life.
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