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No, that man is not my son,' answered Heathcliff, pushing me aside. `But I have one, and you have seen him before too; and, though your nurse is in a hurry, I think both you and she would be the better for a little rest. Will you just turn this nab of heath, and walk into my house? You'll get home earlier for the ease; and you shall receive a kind welcome.
I whispered Catherine that she mustn't, on any account, accede to the proposal: it was entirely out of the question.
`Why?' she asked, aloud. `I'm tired of running, and the ground is dewy: I can't sit here. Let us go, Ellen. Besides, he says I have seen his son. He's mistaken, I think; but I guess where he lives: at the farmhouse I visited in coming from Penistone Crags. Don't you?'
`I do. Come, Nelly, hold your tongue--it will be a treat for her to look in on us. Hareton, get forwards with the lass. You shall walk with me, Nelly.'
`No, she's not going to any such place,' I cried, struggling to release my arm, which he had seized: but she was almost at the doorstones already, scampering round the brow at full speed. Her appointed companion did not pretend to escort her: he shied off by the roadside, and vanished.

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"Yes?" "He had just got back to the Yard.There was a message fromAndover......" "Andover?"I cried excitedly. Poirot said slowly: "An old woman of the name of Ascher who keeps a little tobacco andnewspaper shop has been found murdered." I think I felt ever so slightly damped.My interest，quickened by thesound of Andover，suffered a faint check.I had expected somethingfantastic-out of the way!The murder of an old woman who kept a littletabacco shop seemed，somehow，sordid and uninteresting.
Poirot continued in the same slow，grave voice: "The Andover police believe they can put their hand on the man who didit-"I felt a second throb of disappointment. "It seems the woman was on bad terms with her husband.He drinks and isby way of being rather a nasty customer.He's threatened to take her life

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YOU KNOW the Old Bailey, well, no doubt?" said one of the oldest of clerks to Jerry the messenger. ¡¡¡¡"Ye-es, sir." returned Jerry, in something of a dogged manner. "I do know the Bailey." ¡¡¡¡"Just so. And you know Mr. Lorry." ¡¡¡¡"I know Mr. Lorry, sir, much better than I know the Bailey. Much better," said Jerry, not unlike a
¡¡"Very well. Find the door where the witnesses go in, and show the door-keeper this note for Mr. Lorry. He will then let you in." ¡¡¡¡"Into the court, sir?" ¡¡¡¡"Into the court." ¡¡¡¡Mr. Cruncher's eyes seemed to get a little closer to one another, and to interchange the inquiry, "What do you think of this?" ¡¡¡¡"Am I to wait in the court, sir?" he asked, as the result of that conference.

famous art painting

cried passionately. 'Oh, the river!' ¡¡¡¡'Hush, hush!' said I. 'Calm yourself.' ¡¡¡¡But she still repeated the same words, continually exclaiming, 'Oh, the river!' over and over again. ¡¡¡¡'I know it's like me!' she exclaimed. 'I know that I belong to it. I know that it's the natural company of such as I am! It comes from country places, where there was once no harm in it - and it creeps through the dismal streets, defiled and miserable - and it goes away,
like my life, to a great sea, that is always troubled - and I feel that I must go with it!' I have never known what despair was, except in the tone of those words. ¡¡¡¡'I can't keep away from it. I can't forget it. It haunts me day and night. It's the only thing in all the world that I am fit for, or that's fit for me. Oh, the dreadful river!

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'Don't hurry, David,' said Mr. Sharp. 'There's time enough, my boy, don't hurry.' ¡¡¡¡I might have been surprised by the feeling tone in which he spoke, if I had given it a thought; but I gave it none until afterwards. I hurried away to the parlour; and there I found Mr. Creakle, sitting at his breakfast with the cane and a newspaper before him, and Mrs. Creakle with an opened letter in her hand. But no hamper. ¡¡¡¡'David Copperfield,' said Mrs. Creakle, leading me to a sofa, and sitting down beside me. 'I want to speak to you very particularly.
something to tell you, my child.' ¡¡¡¡Mr. Creakle, at whom of course I looked, shook his head without looking at me, and stopped up a sigh with a very large piece of buttered toast. ¡¡¡¡'You are too young to know how the world changes every day,' said Mrs. Creakle, 'and how the people in it pass away. But we all have to learn it, David; some of us when we are young, some of us when we are old, some of us at all times of our lives.'

famous art painting

water hundreds of times, and which had never been intended to be lived in, on dry land. That was the captivation of it to me. If it had ever been meant to be lived in, I might have thought it small, or inconvenient, or lonely; but never having been designed for any such use, it became a perfect abode. ¡¡¡¡It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy as possible. There was a table, and a Dutch clock, and a chest of drawers, and on the chest of drawers there was a tea-tray with a painting on it of a lady with a parasol, taking a walk with a military-looking child who was trundling a hoop. The tray was kept from tumbling down, by a bible; and the tray, if it had tumbled down,
have smashed a quantity of cups and saucers and a teapot that were grouped around the book. On the walls there were some common coloured pictures, framed and glazed, of scripture subjects; such as I have never seen since in the hands of pedlars, without seeing the whole interior of Peggotty's brother's house again, at one view. Abraham in red going to sacrifice Isaac in blue, and Daniel in yellow cast into a den of green

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I do not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this Book, in the first sensations of having finished it, to refer to it with the composure which this formal heading would seem to require. My interest in it, is so recent and strong; and my mind is so divided between pleasure and regret - pleasure in the achievement of a long design, regret in the separation from many companions - that I am in with personal confidences, and private emotions. ¡¡¡¡Besides which, all that I could say of the Story, to any purpose, I have endeavoured to say in it. ¡¡¡¡It would concern the reader little, perhaps, to know, how sorrowfully the pen is laid down at the close of a two-years' imaginative task; or how an Author feels as if he were dismissing some portion of himself into the shadowy world, when a crowd of the creatures of his brain are going from him for ever. Yet, I have nothing

famous art painting

I do not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this Book, in the first sensations of having finished it, to refer to it with the composure which this formal heading would seem to require. My interest in it, is so recent and strong; and my mind is so divided between pleasure and regret - pleasure in the achievement of a long design, regret in the separation from many companions - that I am in danger of wearying the reader whom I love,
with personal confidences, and private emotions. ¡¡¡¡Besides which, all that I could say of the Story, to any purpose, I have endeavoured to say in it. ¡¡¡¡It would concern the reader little, perhaps, to know, how sorrowfully the pen is laid down at the close of a two-years' imaginative task; or how an Author feels as if he were dismissing some portion of himself into the shadowy world, when a crowd of the creatures of his brain are going from him for ever. Yet, I have nothing

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And such condemnation! He haled forth Wolf Larsen's soul naked to the scorn of men. He rained upon it curses from God and high heaven, and withered it with a heat of invective that savored of a medieval excommunication of the Catholic Church. He ran the gamut of denunciation, rising to heights of wrath, and from sheer exhaustion sinking to the most indecent abuse. ¡¡¡¡Everybody looked for Larsen to leap upon the boy and destroy him. But it was not his whim. His cigar went out, and he continued to gaze silently and curiously. ¡¡¡¡Leach had worked himself into an ecstasy of impotent rage. ¡¡¡¡'Pig! Pig! Pig!' he was reiterating at the top of his lungs. 'Why don't you come down and kill me, you murderer? You can do it. I ain't afraid. There's no one to stop you! Come on, you coward! Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!'

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fine leather, two writing-rooms, where you could take aspecial friend and have a cosy little gossip in a quiet corner – and even write a letter as well if you wanted to. Besides these amenities ofthe Edwardian age, there were other retreats, not in any way publicised, but known tothose who wanted them. There was a double bar, with two bar attendants, an American barmanto make the Americans feel at home and to provide them with bourbon, rye, and every kindof cocktail, and an English one to deal with sherries and Pimm'sNo. I, and to talk knowledgeably about the runners at Ascot and Newbury to the middle-agedmen who stayed at Bertram's for the more serious racemeetings. There was also, tucked down a passage, in a secretive way, a television-room forthose who asked for it.