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Updated: May 7, 2025
Smith; "wouldn't ha' done you any good. Besides, I did just wot the cap'n told me." "When's he coming back?" inquired the steward. Mr. Smith shook his head. "Couldn't say," he returned. "He couldn't say 'imself. Between you an' me, I expect 'e's gone up to have a reg'lar fair spree." "Why did you tell me last night he was up-stairs?" inquired the other. "Cap'n's orders," repeated Mr.
I pondered the matter. "When's Christmas, Miss Daisy?" Margaret asked this question one morning as she was on her knees making my fire. Christmas had been so shadowed a point to me in the distance, I had not looked at it. I stopped to calculate the days. "It will be two weeks from Friday, Margaret." "And Friday's to-morrow?" she asked. "The day after to-morrow.
"You are." "I ain't. I want to go home. I'm sick of this business." "Ye'r not goin' till the guy comes, I tell ye." "When's he comin'?" "I don't know." "He'll stay there till midnight. They always do. I never got home till mornin' when I was courtin', an' Sal wasn't half as sweet as the 'fessor's daughter. Gad, she's a peach!" "Ye'r no judge of beauty, Tom Fleet," was the retort.
"He had schooled himself for this meeting." "When's he comm' back?" "Not 'fore night, I reckon." "Whar's Isom?" "Isom's sick." "Well, who's tendin' this mill?" For answer he tossed the empty bag into the corner and, without looking at her, picked up another bag. "I reckon ye see me, don't ye?" he asked, coolly. "Hev a cheer, and rest a spell. Hit's a purty long climb whar you come from."
"It's a daft-like thing anyway.... When's high water?" Dougal answered that to the best of his knowledge it fell between four and five in the afternoon. "Then that's when we may expect the foreign gentry if they think to bring their boat in to the Garplefoot.... Dougal, lad, I trust you to keep a most careful and prayerful watch.
Sutton's dying. I shall give it to her when he's dead." "You think that'll make up?" "No, Colin, I don't. Supposing we don't talk about it any more." "All right. I say, when's Maisie coming home?" "God only knows. I don't." He wondered how much Colin knew. iii February had gone. They were in the middle of March, and still Maisie had not come back.
Mary started guiltily and denied it. "Well, what in time do you want with dogs on the basin?" Mis' Winslow demanded. Almost against her own wish, Mary told her. Mis' Winslow was one of those whose faces are invariable forerunners of the sort of thing they are going to say. With eyebrows, eyes, forehead, head, and voice she took the news. "He is! Forever and ever more. When's he going to get here?"
But I'm waiting till I can squeeze my money's worth out of him. When's that knighthood coming, doctor? I want to be able to tell that story as good a story as you'd read anywhere. He's got to keep me alive, sir, till it comes true."
"Won't be a joke when we smash you in one innings," shouted Cusack, standing on his seat to give emphasis to the challenge. "Ho, ho! when's that to be?" "When you like," cried the Welchers. "Do you funk it?" "Unless those juniors there hold their row," interposed Bloomfield, "I shall have them turned out of the meeting." Whereat the little breeze calmed down.
Here the village youth and age alike found business to detain them. The grey-headed exchanged remarks. "Sleep? No, I couldn't sleep! Might as well see what's to be seen! I ain't got long to see anything, and so I told Susan. When's he coming out?
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