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"Aye, aw've heerd o' Gordon a bit," said Holgate dubiously, intent to further anger the Beetle, as Henry Withers was called. "Ow yus, ow verily yus! An' y've 'eard o' Julius Caesar, an' Nebucha'nezzar, an' Florence Noightingyle, 'aven't you you wich is chiefly bellyband and gullet." "Aye, aw've eaten too mooch to-day," rejoined Holgate placidly, refusing to see insult.
'Bloomin' fine lyin', any'ow, retorted the critic. 'I'd git orf the turf if I cud spit 'em out that style; mek m' fortin', I would, on th' paipers. 'Y've bin chucked orf the turf often enough as it is, replied the landlord, sourly, whereat, to give the conversation a less personal application, the dirty welcher remarked that he would drain another bitter.
"Y'll be tellin' me y'r passion vows are stronger than life or death? Hoh! Y'd be a poor man if love wasn't stronger than death without any vows and big drum! Y'll be tellin' me y've warned her not t' link her life up wi' y'rs, to help y' resist an' all that; well, while y'r playin' y'r high and mighty self-sacrifice, did y'r manhood melt in the love light o' her eyes?"
Upon receiving a strangled grunt of affirmation he released his antagonist. "Gee! 'bo, aint there nothin' y' aint good at? That's second time y've got my nanny fer fair!" At sound of a familiar voice Phil opened his waterproof match-safe and struck a light.
I'm doin' more for the Southern Confedrisy. Y're allers a-blowin' while I'm allers adoin. Everybody knows that. Talk about the two Yankees y've killed, an' which nobody's seed, here I've brung two Yankees right outen their camps, an' have 'em to show. More'n that, they're gwine to jine we'uns." She indicated the two boys with a wave of her hand. Simmons seemed to see them for the first time.
He stepped back, the red of his face going white, and said, stretching out his hand, "Woman, y'are me wife, I know, whativer y' be; an' y've right to have shelter and bread av me; but me arms, an' me bed, are me own to kape or to give; and, by God, ye shall have nayther one nor the other! There's a ditch as wide as hell betune us."
Till ten o'clock is not long to wait, and then, just here, one of us shall die. Is it not so?" The Irishman did not flinch before the pistol. He said with low fierceness, "At ten o'clock, or now, or any time, or at any place, y'll find me ready to break the back of the lies y've spoken, or be broken meself. Lucy Rives is my wife, and she's true and straight as the sun in the sky.
"It's nothing but adding an' subtracting, this gum-shoe work. Y've got t' keep at it till it adds right. Y' don't realize, Mr. Crawford, how many times I almost put my hand on your shoulder; but y' didn't add up right. I shan't go at Webb like a load o' bricks. I'll nose around first. Take a peek int' his belongings while you folks keep him busy downstairs.
Johnnie's ears stung pleasantly. "Hear 'em?" he asked One-Eye. "Course they mean me!" "Ad-mi-ra-tion," pronounced the cowboy, who always took his big words thus, a syllable at a time. "Sonny, y've knocked 'em all pie-eyed!" The barber shop was not nearly so regal as that restaurant of fond and glorious memory. And how deliciously it smelled!
"Aye, aw've heerd o' Gordon a bit," said Holgate dubiously, intent to further anger the Beetle, as Henry Withers was called. "Ow yus, ow verily yus! An' y've 'eard o' Julius Caesar, an' Nebucha'nezzar, an' Florence Noightingyle, 'aven't you you wich is chiefly bellyband and gullet." "Aye, aw've eaten too mooch to-day," rejoined Holgate placidly, refusing to see insult.
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