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Such a reform had already been contemplated by Philip the Good, and it would have caused no opposition if the bishops had been nominated by the pope, as in mediæval times. But, owing to Charles V's religious policy, they were now selected by the king, and his choice, which included several inquisitors, was much criticized by the Belgian clergy and the abbots.
Bland knew where Johnny was, of course. He was lying, for some reason probably because he had the habit and couldn't stop. Bland kept an eye on Mary V's right hand. He suspected a gun, and when, in involuntary obedience to the frantic honkings behind her, she let her hand drop to the gear lever, Bland turned to flee. "Bland, you come back here!" Bland came.
The suit had grown a bit shabby for Los Angeles, and Mary V's mother believed that town cast-offs should be worn out on the ranch. Mary V did not mind. She hated the cumbersome riding skirts of the range girl proper, and much preferred the breeches. When she had put a little distance between herself and the ranch, she usually removed the coat and tied it in a roll behind the cantle.
He had what looked like two V's on his sleeve, and I remember that they were yellow. What kind of an officer is the man who wears the two yellow V's?" "A non-commissioned officer, Mrs. Davidson; a corporal of cavalry." "Was he higher that you'll be when you graduate from West Point?" "No; a corporal is an enlisted man, a step above the private soldier.
By the time they were again moving forward, Mary V's curiosity had seized upon something else. She wanted to know if Johnny wasn't afraid Bland Halliday might steal his aeroplane and fly off with it in the night. "Well, he might, at that if he got a chance," Johnny admitted. "Which he won't take it from me." "Which he will take it from you, if you don't keep an eye on him.
And if he sold his own airplane, how then would he fly? How could he ever hope to be in the game as long as Bland had been? How could he do anything but go back meekly to the Rolling R Ranch and ride bronks for Mary V's father, and be hailed as Skyrider still, who had no more any hope of riding the sky?
"Oh, plague take Bedelia!" snapped Mary V. But she nevertheless spent precious minutes wiping the butcher knife on Bedelia's clean dish towel, and putting away the butter and the bread, and mopping up the splatters of loganberry jam. Getting her "Desert Glimpses" through the kitchen window formed no part of Mary V's plans or desires.
"Dad, if Bill doesn't let me ride Jake, I don't believe I can remember some things I saw down on Sinkhole range through the field glasses, from Snake Ridge. I shall feel so badly I'll just have to go into my room, and lock the door and cry all day long!" To prove it, Mary V's lips began to quiver and droop at the corners. To prepare for the deluge, Mary V got out her handkerchief.
If Henry V's speech at Agincourt is the splendid gasconade of a royal freebooter, there is no false ring in the scene where John of Gaunt takes leave of his banished son; nor in Sir Walter Scott's 'Breathes there a man with soul so dead, etc.
Another thing Johnny did not know was that, thanks to Mary V's father, he was not herded with the other prisoners, where the air was bad and the company was worse.
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