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Updated: June 14, 2025
He was the man that stopped with Miss Sally Briggs a while. I thought maybe you knew him. He's dead. I thought maybe you'd be interested to know it." A light dawned on the butcher. William Rossiter must have been the man that left the lung-testers at Miss Sally's. "I'm glad he's dead," he said. "I don't know anybody I'd sooner have it happen to."
From this the Home Office strove at first to exclude Vivien Warren on the plea that her crime was an ordinary crime and admitted of no political justification; but at this the wrath of Rossiter and the indignation of the W.S.P.U. became so alarming that the agitated Secretary of State not at all sure how we were going to come out of the War gave way, and an order was signed for Vivie's release on the 11th of August; on the understanding that she would immediately proceed abroad; an understanding to which she would not subscribe but which in her slowly-formed hatred of the British Government she resolved to carry out.
A figure suggestive of no drama and certainly of no tragedy, its attitude expectant and waiting, with that alternate hope and fear which is youth at twenty, when all of life lies ahead and every to-morrow may hold some great adventure. Clare Rossiter walked home that night with Elizabeth. She was a tall blonde girl, lithe and graceful, and with a calculated coquetry in her clothes.
I remained on board the Britannia together with Robert Eury and six others of her original crew, the Rossiter children being taken by the Spanish lady on board the larger of the privateers, the second lieutenant of which, with about twenty men, were drafted to the prize.
It was imbecile not to remember the name of your own hotel even when your own particular material and immaterial cosmos had been telescoped like a toy train in the last three hours. The Rossiter was all that he could think of. "The Rossiter," he said firmly. "No hotel Rossiter in this town." The policeman's nightstick was getting more and more irritated. "Rossiter's a lotta flats. You live there?"
In the Morning punished Thomas Rossiter with 12 lashes for getting Drunk, grossly assaulting the Officer of the Watch, and beating some of the Sick. Wind South to East-South-East; course West by South; distance 126 miles; latitude 25 degrees 21 minutes South; longitude 304 degrees 39 minutes per Account, 306 degrees 34 minutes per Observation. Friday, 22nd. Fresh Trade and fair weather.
Rossiter was face to face with the woman he was to dog for a month, and he was flabbergasted. Even as he stopped, puzzled, before her, contemplating retreat, she spoke to him. "Did that man send you to me?" she asked nervously, looking through the door beyond and then through a window at his right, quite puzzled, he could see. "He did, and I was sure he was mistaken.
You're wanted! It's time, Clare! where are you? Clare! Clare!" They heard him, knocking furniture over as he went. Then there was silence. Mrs. Rossiter seemed, at that, to come to herself. She stood up, feeling her cheek. "It's sent him off his head, Bobby. Go after him. He'll hurt himself." Then as though to herself, she went on "I must find Clare she'll be in Paris, I suppose.
Half an hour later Havens was strolling about the grounds, under the lamp lights, in and out of dark nooks, and close beside him was a slim figure in white. Their conversation was earnest, their manner secretive; that much the harassed Rossiter could see from the balcony. His heart grew sore and he could almost feel the tears of disappointment surging to his eyes.
Out from the Grand Place of Alost radiate narrow little streets that run down to the canal, like spokes of a wheel. Each little street had its earthworks and group of defenders. Out over the canal stretched footbridges, and these were thickly sown with barbed wire. "Great luck," said Rossiter. "They're making an old-time barricade. It's as good as the days of the Commune.
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