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Updated: June 29, 2025
Just as the lieutenant's arm is grazing grim old Feeny's elbow as he passes the first sergeant's station a brick comes hurtling through the air, strikes full upon the back of the officer's unprotected head, and sends him, face forward, into the muddy street. In the yell of triumph that follows, Wing's voice for an instant is unheard.
"Amen to that!" exclaimed the artist fervently, and, seizing his water glass from beside his plate, he sprang to his feet and raised it high in the air. "Let's have a toast!" he cried. "Drink success to our cause and defeat to the enemy!" The rest were on their feet in an instant, clinking Grandmother Wing's etched tumblers across the table and drinking the toast with all their hearts.
Which reminds me that if I'm going to be fit to-morrow I'd better go to bed. Mr. Wing's to take me to New York on his yacht, and you've got to have your wits about you when you talk to the old man." According to the ordinary and inaccurate method of measuring time, a fortnight may have gone by since the event last narrated, and Honora had tasted at last the joys of authorship.
Yes; some day love would come to her. There floated before her brain the adoring look on Daphne Wing's face, the shiver that had passed along her arm, and pitifulness crept into her heart a half-bitter, half-admiring pitifulness. Why should she grudge she who did not love? The sounds, like the humming of large flies, grew deeper, more vibrating.
Do you mean that he was the man Miss Harvey spoke of, the disguised soldier she called him?" And Drummond, amazed at Wing's emotion, gazed up to see the sergeant's features working almost convulsively, his face paling, his eyes full of intense anxiety. "Why, I cannot doubt it, sergeant.
Where did you learn it, sergeant? They tell me you speak it like a native." Wing's sunburned face a fine, clear-cut, and manly one it was seemed to grow a shade or two redder. "Oh, I have spoken it many years. My boyhood was spent on the Pacific slope. Pardon me, sir, I want to look more carefully after your injuries now." "But the ladies, where are they?" asked Drummond, uneasily.
The sheets were open and she felt no hesitancy about reading them. What Sahwah read sent her heart wildly pounding against her throat. "Atterbury?" "Strikes?" and signed by Prince Karl Augustus of Hohenburg? This must be the very letter that was stolen from Mr. Wing's desk the letter they accused Veronica of taking!
"It's bad for the " She checked herself. When they had finished supper, Gyp shut the dogs into the back premises; she had visions of their rending Miss Wing's draperies, or calves. Then they went into the drawing-room, not lighting up, that they might tell when the moonlight was strong enough outside.
"I hate to see folks so dumb conceeted! Now I don't spose that man has got any hosses much faster than the old mair." "'Wing's! Shaw! I don't believe no such thing a livery on wings. I don't believe a word on't. And you wouldn't ketch me on one on 'em, if they had!" "'Yet Sing!" sez he, a lookin' accost the street into a laundry house. "What do I care if you do sing?
Obedient to its principle, "Never load until about to fire," the battalion's carbines are still empty, but all on a sudden "C" troop halts. "With ball cartridges load!" is Wing's hoarse, stern order. "Now aim low when I give the word. Fire by company. Company, READY!" and, like one, the hammers click. But no command "Aim" follows. "Look out! Look out! For God's sake don't fire!
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