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Updated: June 24, 2025
These might readily have been consigned to the depths of the wastebasket unopened, unread.
A look of expectancy faded from his eager face almost in the moment that it appeared there. "No luck, Innes," he said, gloomily. "Merton reports that there is no trace of any dangerous foreign body in the liquids analyzed." He dropped the analyst's report into a wastebasket and resumed his restless promenade. Innes, who could see that his principal wanted to talk, waited.
He was trying to remember if he had ever said anything incriminating to the boy. "How d' you happen to be over there just at that time?" "I haven't time to talk about it. Please don't bother me. It happened three days ago and I've really forgotten about it. Don't throw that cigarette into the wastebasket. Haven't you any sense?" "Gee, you don't suppose I'm going to throw it away, do you?
I cared little if some of my friends should conclude that I had been born a century too late; for, without them as confidants, I must write with no more inspiring object in view than the wastebasket. Indeed, I found it difficult to compose without keeping before me the image of a friend.
With an idea that he was fulfilling his customary duties, he locked the doors of the two inner rooms, dropped the keys gently into a wastebasket, and passing by an umbrella which stood in a corner, went out to the corridor, and thence stepped into the street of whooping rain.
Blake grinned sardonically at Lord James. "Hear that, Jimmy? Never take the guess of an engineer. They're no good at guessing. It's not in the business." "Chuck it. You know you've got something worth fighting for now." "Lots of chance I'll have to win out against you!" Blake's teeth ground together on his unlighted cigar. He jerked it from his mouth and flung it savagely into the wastebasket.
Sibley's professional doctrines was that at least one copy of everything printed was worth preserving. I strove to refute him, but long failed. Half in derision, I offered the library the stub of my wash-book. Instead of throwing it into the wastebasket he kept it, with the remark that the wash-book of a nineteenth century student would at some future time be of interest to the antiquarian.
Bud laughed sneeringly when I read the letter aloud to him ... said it was a fine effort as a composition in rhetoric, but I might expect nothing of it if the perpetually drunk jailer really brought it to its destination except that it would be tossed unread into the wastebasket....
The plans of the other engineers were all rejected. I continued to work on mine. After the contest I happened to pick up a piece of torn plan out of the office wastebasket, and it gave me a suggestion how to improve the central span of my bridge." "Yes?" asked the girl, her interest deepening.
"Daily reports, hospital log...." His voice died away and stopped as Brion carefully pushed the stack off the edge of the desk into the wastebasket. "In other words, red tape," Brion said. "Well, it's all filed." One by one the progress reports followed the first stack into the basket, until the desk was clear. Nothing. It was just what he had expected.
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