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Updated: June 15, 2025
"He's good at that sort of business, I guess." "Aye, he kens men as ye can see frae his gang." "Doesn't seem to be able to make the company's business pay," ventured the colonel. "D'ye think ye cud find one that cud?" pointing to the halting saw. "An that's the machine that turned oot thae piles yonder. Gie him a chance, though, an' when the stuff is deesposed of ye'll get y're profit."
The night before the match-play part of the business commenced, I was walking down one of the streets of Portrush when I encountered Andrew himself, and in his own blunt but good-humoured way he remarked, "Young laddie, d'ye think y're gaun to tak the money awa' with ye? Ye've no chance, ye ken." I said nothing in reply, because I felt that he spoke the truth.
"Them Yankees is runnin' back to their camps as fast as they'uns's legs 'll carry they'uns. If yo'uns 'd had any sand, and stood yer ground, you'd 'a seed 'em. But yo' yaller hammers allers git the ager when ever a cap's busted, and run yer rabbit-gizzards out." "Y're a liar," hotly responded another voice. "Thar was more'n 50 o' them Yankees, if thar was a man.
One-Eye was powerfully struck by the improvement in the latter's physical appearance. "Gee-whillikens, sonny!" he cried. "W'y, y're not half as peeked as y' used t' be! Y're fuller in the face! And a lot taller! Say!" And when Johnnie explained that it was mostly due to a quart of milk which a certain Mr. He was back in no time, a quart of ice-cold milk in either hand.
But I want t' know what you think y're doin'?" "Just now," I replied, "I'm opening this door." This was a fact he could not question. We emerged at the foot of a lane behind the inn; it was long and narrow, bordered by stone walls, and at the other end debouched upon a road which passed the rear of the Baudry cottage. Miss Elliott took my arm, and we entered the lane. Mr. Percy paused undecidedly.
Wigglesworth turned on Annette who, now that Sam's bellowing had much abated with the appearance of his father upon the scene, had somewhat regained her nerve. "You?" gasped Mr. Wigglesworth. "You? My Samuel? It's a lie," he cried. "Hey, mon, guairrd y're tongue a bit," said Mack. "Mind ye're speakin' to a leddy." "A lidy! A lidy!" Mr. Wigglesworth's voice was eloquent of scorn.
Say, you," to the white man; "what are you goin' ter do with that man?" "Mind yer own bizniss," replied the white man, after a casual glance at the Deacon, and seeing that he did not wear a uniform. "Keep yer mouth shet if ye know when y're well off."
An' y're all s' verra delicate y're lettin' a stinkin' slanderous unclean unspoken damnable hell-spawned lie go forth unchallenged t' blacken a dead man's memory? Oh, A know y'r kind well! A've heard harlots lisp an' whisp' an' half tell and damn by a lie o' th' eye! Y' are insinuatin' this woman Calamity shot her master to avenge dishonor in her early life? 'Tis a lie!
Inspector Clayton took it, looked at it, looked at Jimmie Dale; then his scowl relaxed into a self-sufficient and pleased smile, and he grunted approvingly. "That's the stuff to put over," he said. "Mabbe you're not much of a reporter, but you can draw. Y're all right, sport y're all right. Forget what I said to you a while ago." Jimmie Dale smiled too deprecatingly.
She put her arms akimbo and retorted vigorously: "Nary drap o' likker yo'll git from me, Sol. Simmons. Go and git yer likker whar y're welcome. Y're not welcome here. I don't keer if yo' have killed two Yankees or 20 Yankees. Y're allers talkin' about killin' Yankees, but nobody never sees none that y've killed. I'm a better Confederit than yo' ever dared be.
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