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Updated: June 9, 2025
I'm not going to let t' lasses at Cohen's call me a country gauvie, same as they did when I first came to Leeds. But I'll tell you what I'll do. Woodhouse Feast'll be coomin' on soon, and I'll take you there, sure as my name's Mary Briggs. There'll be summat more for your brass nor mell-suppers, an' guisers an' dolls.
He had reached the cool air of the street, and stood hesitating whether to cross the Square on his way to the ferry, or to turn down the avenue, when the door of Isaac Cohen's shop opened, and the little tailor put out his head. "I have been waiting for you." he said in a measured voice. "Come inside."
I do not believe you do, but I have had many surprises in my life." Jack had heard him through without interruption. Most of it especially Cohen's affection for Peter he had known before. It was the last statement that roused him. "Well, if you must know, Mr. Cohen it is not for myself, but for a friend." The Jew smiled. He saw that the young man had told the truth.
With radiant face Frank proceeded to obey, giving Bert a triumphant look as he passed by him, while Cohen shrank back into his corner, and bit his nails as though he would devour his finger tips. Taking up Cohen's slate, the doctor scrutinised it carefully. One glance was sufficient.
He had borne insults from Graciella that he never would have borne from any one else, and that he would never bear again; but there were things at which his soul protested. Nor would Cohen's suits have fitted him. He was so much taller than the average man for whom store clothes were made. He remained in a state of indecision until the day of the ball.
Quarters of beeves in the meat shop, bottles of liquids and powders on the drug-store shelves, barrels and boxes of food in the grocery store, suits of clothing in Abe Cohen's, the leather whips and carriage robes in the hardware store, all went down its gullet with the most amazing ease.
"London importation, my eye!" exclaimed Frank. "Why, Cohen's Emporium, on Main street, has the same thing in the window marked thirteen ninety-eight regular fourteen dollars." "Oh, I say now! Quit your spoofing!" "Give us some candy, Sis!" begged Will. "Come on, now, I know you've got it!" "I had it, we have it they had it thou hast it not!" quoted Grace, with a laugh.
Please go downstairs, rap three times at Mr. Cohen's shutters hard, so that he can hear you that's my signal present my compliments and ask him to be kind enough to come up and have a cigar with us." Jack leaned forward in his seat, his face showing his astonishment. "You don't mean it?" "I do." "All right."
The high prices, eighty or a hundred pounds, are merely the beginning of what the great collectors are ready to pay, and to do, and to suffer in the cause of Dorat. In M. Cohen's catalogue of all these old illustrated books special mention is made of M. Paillet's copy of the "Fables." It is "a superb example, with all the engravings printed separately."
She took up some cutting slips from a table, by way of excuse for her intrusion, but the blush and smile with which she acknowledged Ike's rather perfunctory nod betrayed her. Abe was fingering the Hamsuckett swatches, but Miss Cohen's embarrassment did not escape Morris Perlmutter. He marked it with an inward start, and immediately conceived a brilliant idea.
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