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Updated: June 28, 2025
The climate's getting at you." Indeed Mr. Secretary was all of a shake, and looked in a scared manner from the Prince to me and back again. "It's naething but a little queasiness, such as we elder, bookish men are apt to get by ower-much application. Your Royal Highness is gracious to note my little ailments," said he smoothly. He had recovered already. "Try brandy!" said Charles.
"He can't go away without paying me a pony he owes me." "What's the salary?" asked Smith. "Two or three thousand," answered the other. "But the climate's so infernal, they don't enjoy it long. Liverseege died after eighteen months of it, and the man before went off in six weeks, I hear." "Some people say his brother is a very clever man. I always found him a d bore," Smith ejaculated.
And Brother Jarrum caught the words, although they were spoken in an undertone. "And so they are," said he. "The climate's of a nature that softens the faces, keeps folks in health, and stops 'em from growing old. If you see two females in the street, one a saint's wife, the t'other a new arrival, you can always tell which is which.
"The pay is small enough," said Captain Kettle, staring at the blue paper. "It's a bit hard for a man of my age and experience to come down to a job like piloting, on eight pound a month and my grub." "All right, Capt'n," replied the agent. "You needn't tell me what I know already. The pay's miserable, the climate's vile, and the bosses are beasts.
Bob brought it out with a jerk. "This climate's great, you know." "But not with improved finances?" "Yes, that too. It's a fine place for economy." "For what purpose did this German come?" asked Katrina. "He's one of the mysteries," said Patton, rising to take his leave. Bob called Sydney from the drawing-room into the hall, and handed her a letter. "Father got it this afternoon," he said.
"I suppose the climate's rather too moist; the heat would be rather trying to him there." "That so?" "And he's taken his ticket for Alexandria," Westover pursued. "Well, I guess that's so." Whitwell tilted his backward sloping hat to one side, so as to scratch the northeast corner of his bead thoughtfully.
So far as man is concerned, the one essential fact is that he is never the climate's slave; he is never beleaguered by the powers of the air. Winter and summer alike call him out of doors. In summer he is not languid, for the air is never sultry. In most regions he is seldom hot, for in the shade or after nightfall the dry air is always cool.
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