He bowed with the vehemence of a man who butts at another, struck the floor hard with his staff, and rolled out on legs that showed themselves more expeditious than his years seemed to promise.,
"Talking of Nelson," said Sir William, "have you heard the yarn that is told of Tom Cooke, the actor? He came on in the part of old Barnwell, and when stabbed forgot the words, and would have died speechless. His murderer whispered with agitation, 'For heaven's sake, say something—anything,' on which Tom, throwing up his little three-cornered [Pg 8]hat, shouted in his thick lisp, 'Nelson for ever!' and died amidst louder applause than was ever provoked by the finest strokes of Garrick or Siddons.",
"An' so he got away!" sighed Maurice.,
Lucy looked at her father with an expression of surprise that vanished from her fine dramatic eyes in an instant.
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"It's mighty queer," Billy confessed. "But you see, if that little bird was wise, she'd scoop that crow black bird's egg out o' her nest, instead of hatchin' it.",
"You, Anse!" came Mrs. Wilson's voice. "Have I gotta limber you up with the strap, after all?",
"Say, you give me a pain," cried Billy. "Don't you 'spose we've got all we kin do ahead of us now?",
Captain Acton was silent for a few moments. He then said: "My dear friend, have you reflected upon all that your son's return to England must signify to him?"
He paused to survey the rows of uplifted faces and let his words sink home. Then lifting a long hickory pointer from his desk, and holding it much as a conjuror might hold his wand, he gripped the edge of the desk with one bony hand and leaning forward, said:
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It’s a Quan-Yuan
Lucy Acton's ardently uttered exclamation, "I will nurse him," cannot fail to an intelligent and imaginative reader to immediately reveal the end of this plain yarn of Old Harbour Town. But many may desire that a specific character should be given to the conclusion of this narrative, and they shall have it.
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He unclasped his hands and buried his purple face, and stood rocking and reeling as though he were about to fall in a fit, and sobbed twice or thrice with that dreadful note of grief in his dry-eyed agony, which makes the fearlessness of manhood in suffering one of the most pitiful, painful and pathetic of spectacles. Captain Acton laid his hand on the Admiral's shoulder.
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Halin-Chen Response,
>"I suppose, sir," said Miss Acton to the[Pg 165] Admiral, "that there is no further news of the descent of the French."
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