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Updated: May 8, 2025
Philip stood, hat in hand, in the doorway between the kitchen and parlour, watching her so intently that he forgot to be civil, and drew many a jest and gibe upon him for his absorption in his pretty cousin. When Sylvia reached him, he said, 'Yo're ready at last, are yo'? 'Yes, she replied, in her little beseeching tone.
'Is't Uncle Reuben? whispered Louie, pressing her face against the side of the rocks, and trying to look through the chink between it and the covering stone. 'Aye wi a lantern. But there's talkin theer's someone else. Jim Wigson, mebbe. 'If it's Jim Wigson, said Louie, between her small, shut teeth, 'I'll bite him! 'Cos yo're a gell! Gells and cats bite they can't do nowt else!
I feel as if I could drink up the Mississippi River. Say, boys, what's happened? Appearintly, I got a sock-dologer on my head from some feller who thought I was too fresh. I'm afraid I'll have a spell o' headache. But we got the flag, didn't we?" "Yo're bloody right we did," said Wat; "hand we wolloped them bloomin' rebels till they 'unted their 'oles hin the woods."
David rolled himself round on his face, and took a look at the bluish patch on the heather. 'It hasna got naw name, he said, at a venture. 'Then yo're a stoopid, for it has, replied Louie, triumphantly. 'It's t' Mermaid Pool. Theer wor a Manchester mon at Wigsons' last week, telling aw maks o' tales.
There was a flush on the sallow face, and a vindictive ring in the thin voice. "One way or t'ither, fair or foul, Wullie or me, ain or baith, has got to go afore Cup Day, eh, James Moore! eh?" The Master put his hand on the latch of the gate, "That'll do, M'Adam," he said. "I'll stop to hear no more, else I might get angry wi' yo'. Noo git off this gate, yo're trespassin' as 'tis."
She hesitated a moment, seemingly pondering with herself before she answered him. "Ay," she said, "but I ha' another reason behind. I want summat fro' yo': I want yo're pity. Happen it moight do her good even now." She did not look at him as she proceeded, but stood with her face a little turned away and her eyes resting upon the shadow on the mountain.
Thus Bull, stubbornly. "I ain't aimin' to make money out of Harpe. What I'm figuring to make out of him is somethin' else again." "Whatsa use of lying thataway? Don't " "That'll be about all," interrupted Racey. "You've called me a liar enough for one night. I ain't got all kinds of patience. You going to tell me what I want to know?" "No, I ain't." "Yo're mistaken.
"You ain't something to write home about yore own self. I can button up my vest and look respectable, but they's hayseeds and shuttlin's all over you, and besides I got a necktie, and yore handkerchief is so sloshed up you can't tie it round yore neck. Yo're a fine-lookin' specimen to go a-visitin'. A fi-ine-lookin' specimen. And anyway yo're drunk. You can't go."
'No speechmakin in the church, if you please, sir. Move on if yo're goin to th' vestry, sir, for I'll have to shut up directly. The young man stared haughtily at his assailant, and the men and boys near closed up, expecting a row. But the voice of authority within its own gates is strong, and the champion of outraged genius collapsed.
Squirming through a little piñon thicket, Kid Wolf saw three men stationed behind a low ledge of red sandstone. The guns of the trio were still curling blue smoke. "Will yo' kindly stick up yo' hands, gentlemen," the Texan drawled, "while yo're explainin'?" The three whirled about to find themselves staring into the two deadly black muzzles of The Kid's twin six-shooters.
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