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To Bob’s great disgust his first job was not out on the construction work. Whiskers had turned him over to Mr. Taylor, who set him to work in the draughting room. All day long he sat on a stool, and did simple sums: endless multiplications and divisions of figures that came from the blue prints made by the engineers. It was stupid work and had in it little of the romance which he had always associated with the work he was to do. However, he comforted himself with the thought that if it were not necessary, the Chief would never set him at it.,
Feather-in-the-Wind had become separated from them, but his plan had worked! This was Bob’s first thought, but his exultation was cut short by the most surprising event of this eventful night!,
Quick as a flash, Johnny’s jacket was off and he was displaying his little shirt sleeve. “Look here! Look! Isn’t that good muscle?”,
“What did you give him, little John?”
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His mind busy with these thoughts, he found that the long climb to the top did not bother him. After a wash-up he had supper and went out on the hotel piazza. The sun had gone but its last banners of light were flung up against the sky behind the farthest horizon. The depths of the Canyon were black. Out of this rose myriad pinnacles, dim in outline, rich in deep colors. Just at the opposite rim a strip of color spun along, tipping the horizon with a golden glow.,
“Yes,” said Johnny Blossom.,
[25]“When’s supper, Boss Whitney? I’m hungry enough to eat tacks!”,
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Developer Response,
A moment later the place was in an uproar. Fired by bad whiskey and the knowledge that numbers were with them, the bunch of Mexicans had jumped for the solitary figure.
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mpt7i-Wong,
It’s a Quan-Yuan
Every one said that Uncle Isaac was awfully rich. Well, then, why did he look so sad and why was he always thinking and thinking so hard? What in the world could he be puzzling about when he was so rich? Why, he had everything, even to a saddle horse and a pleasure yacht; and the horse was a thoroughbred, according to Carlstrom the coachman.
46anf-Xu,
Bingbing-Li
'I was interrupted in my confession by a sound of deep sobs, and rising my eyes, Oh God, what were my sensations, when in the features of the holy father I discovered Angelo! His image faded like a vision from my sight, and I sunk at his feet. On recovering I found myself on my matrass, attended by a sister, who I discovered by her conversation had no suspicion of the occasion of my disorder. Indisposition confined me to my bed for several days; when I recovered, I saw Angelo no more, and could almost have doubted my senses, and believed that an illusion had crossed my sight, till one day I found in my cell a written paper. I distinguished at the first glance the handwriting of Angelo, that well-known hand which had so often awakened me to other emotions. I trembled at the sight; my beating heart acknowledged the beloved characters; a cold tremor shook my frame, and half breathless I seized the paper. But recollecting myself, I paused—I hesitated: duty at length yielded to the strong temptation, and I read the lines! Oh! those lines prompted by despair, and bathed in my tears! every word they offered gave a new pang to my heart, and swelled its anguish almost beyond endurance. I learned that Angelo, severely wounded in a foreign engagement, had been left for dead upon the field; that his life was saved by the humanity of a common soldier of the enemy, who perceiving signs of existence, conveyed him to a house. Assistance was soon procured, but his wounds exhibited the most alarming symptoms. During several months he languished between life and death, till at length his youth and constitution surmounted the conflict, and he returned to Naples. Here he saw my brother, whose distress and astonishment at beholding him occasioned a relation of past circumstances, and of the vows I had taken in consequence of the report of his death. It is unnecessary to mention the immediate effect of this narration; the final one exhibited a very singular proof of his attachment and despair;—he devoted himself to a monastic life, and chose this abbey for the place of his residence, because it contained the object most dear to his affections. His letter informed me that he had purposely avoided discovering himself, endeavouring to be contented with the opportunities which occurred of silently observing me, till chance had occasioned the foregoing interview.—But that since its effects had been so mutually painful, he would relieve me from the apprehension of a similar distress, by assuring me, that I should see him no more. He was faithful to his promise; from that day I have never seen him, and am even ignorant whether he yet inhabits this asylum; the efforts of religious fortitude, and the just fear of exciting curiosity, having withheld me from enquiry. But the moment of our last interview has been equally fatal to my peace and to my health, and I trust I shall, ere very long, be released from the agonizing ineffectual struggles occasioned by the consciousness of sacred vows imperfectly performed, and by earthly affections not wholly subdued.'
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Halin-Chen Response,
>“If I remember the figures exactly, it will be two hundred and twenty-five feet from the foundation to the top—almost as tall as the Flatiron Building in New York. It will be nearly twelve hundred feet from bank to bank across the top.”
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