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A Dissuasive from the Play-house. The Virtues of Camphire, with Directions to make Camphire Tea. The Pleasures of a Country Life. The Government of the Tongue. A Letter dated from Cheapside desires me that I would advise all young Wives to make themselves Mistresses of Wingate's Arithmetick, and concludes with a Postscript, that he hopes I will not forget The Countess of Kent's Receipts.
"No further word need be spoken upon the subject," Wingate replied. "Your husband has explained that he was drunk and has tendered his apology. I accept it." There was a brief pause. Josephine was obviously repeating Wingate's decision to her husband. Then she spoke again. "My husband desires me to thank you," she said.
"And your bowels all the time irregular?" continued Hawkins, blushing under Wingate's eye, and yet clinging despairingly to his theme, like a shipwrecked mariner to his plank. Wingate did not reply, but glanced significantly at the rest. Hawkins evidently saw this recognition of his mental deficiency, and said apologetically, "You was saying suthin' about my investment?"
To hell with your nephew, Phipps!" Passion for a moment made once more a man of Phipps. His eyes blazed. "And to hell with you! Hypocrite! Adulterer!" he shouted. Wingate's fist missed the point of his adversary's chin by less than a thought. Phipps went staggering back through the open door into the corridor and stood leaning against the wall, half dazed, his hand to his cheek.
Shafto feeding the night logs to the fire before seeking her own browse-bed, Henry taking up his resting place a little distance from her in the shadows and away from the fire. His fur coat was sufficient protection against the evening chill, but Hindenburg's hair was short, and he was shivering when he crawled in and nosed his way under Lieutenant Wingate's blanket.
He staggered up the farther side of the table towards him, butting into a waiter on the way and pausing for a moment to curse him, Flossie jogged Wingate's elbow. "What fun!" she whispered. "Here's Lord Dredlinton, absolutely blotto!" Wingate from the first had a prescience of disagreeable things.
Wash is laundry and laundry is wash in the neck of the woods where I was reared," explained Hippy, at the same time narrowly observing the colored boy, who, following Lieutenant Wingate's threat, had permitted himself to slide to the ground, and there he sat, still mouthing his harmonica, lost to everything but the music he was creating. "Your logic is unassailable," nodded Miss Briggs.
"The grillroom," she decided, after a moment's reflection. "We can go and sit out in the foyer afterwards and have our coffee." The cocktails and Wingate's choice of a table were alike approved.
"I shall also require some explanation," the inspector continued, turning to Phipps "Explanation be damned!" the latter interrupted furiously. "If you want to know the truth about the whole business " He broke off suddenly. His eyes seemed fascinated by the slow entry of Wingate's hand to his pocket. He kicked a footstool sullenly on one side.
One of them was a planter by name of Dillon, the other none less than stout Caleb Price, one of Wingate's chosen captains. "I'll not see this made a thing of politics," said he. "I'm Northern, but I like the way that young man has acted. He hasn't had a fair deal from the officers of this train. He's going to have a fair deal now." "We allow he will," said Dillon grimly.
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