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Miss Cashell dressed very charmingly, and never expressed an opinion that would not well have become a cloistered nun, but the girls read her colorless face, sensuous mouth, and sly dark eyes aright, and nobody in Front Office "went" with Miss Cashell. Next her was Mrs.
The following winter was a restless, unhappy one; Ronald was either painfully elated or very dull; and, soon after the New Year, Walter Cashell fell into bad health, went to the West Indies, and left Ronald with the whole business to manage. He soon now began to come to his sister, not only for advice, but for money.
Cashell, when I stepped back. "I'll just send them a call." He pressed a key in the semi-darkness, and with a rending crackle there leaped between two brass knobs a spark, streams of sparks, and sparks again. "Grand, isn't it? That's the Power our unknown Power kicking and fighting to be let loose," said young Mr. Cashell. "There she goes kick kick kick into space.
Presently he was gone again, and she saw him no more that day. The next day, however, she found him at her desk when she came in. They had ten minutes of inconsequential banter before Miss Cashell came in. "How about a fool trip to the Chutes to-morrow night?" Peter asked in a low tone, just before departing. "Lent," Susan said reluctantly. "Oh, so it is.
But get to know the clergy, and see things from the inside, and you will meet some one like the Archbishop of Cashell, who wrote to one of his intimates: I conclude that a good bishop has nothing more to do than to eat, drink and grow fat, rich and die; which laudable example I propose for the remainder of my days to follow. As I peep into George II's St.
Then and there, carefully, I repeated the verse he had twice spoken and once written not ten minutes ago. "Ah. Anybody could see he was a druggist from that line about the tinctures and syrups. It's a fine tribute to our profession." "I don't know," said young Mr. Cashell, with icy politeness, opening the door one half-inch, "if you still happen to be interested in our trifling experiments.
Cashell tells me, they're trying to signal from here to Poole, and they're using stronger batteries than ever. Are you going to watch?" "Very much. I've never seen this game. Aren't you going to bed?" "We don't close till ten on Saturdays. There's a good deal of influenza in town, too, and there'll be a dozen prescriptions coming in before morning. I generally sleep in the chair here.
"You couldn't do a better service to the profession than report him to Apothecaries' Hall." I did so, not knowing what djinns I should evoke; and the result was such an apology as one might make who had spent a night on the rack. I conceived great respect for Apothecaries' Hall, and esteem for Mr. Cashell, a zealous craftsman who magnified his calling. Until Mr.
Shaynor came down from the North his assistants had by no means agreed with Mr. Cashell. "They forget," said he, "that, first and foremost, the compounder is a medicine-man. On him depends the physician's reputation. He holds it literally in the hollow of his hand, Sir." Mr.
The Cowcaddens was then a very respectable street, and Margaret was quite pleased with her quarters. She was not pleased with Ronald, however. He avowed himself thoroughly disgusted with the law, and declared his intention of forfeiting his fee and joining his friend Walter Cashell in a manufacturing scheme.
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