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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Frontier Stories"

His usually underdone
complexion was of watery blueness; but his dull, abstracted glance
appeared to exercise a certain dumb, narcotic fascination on his
lodger.
"I mout," said Nott, slowly, "hev laid ye out here on sight, without
enny warnin', or dropped ye in yer tracks in Montgomery Street,
wherever there was room to work a six-shooter in comf'ably? Johnson, of
Petaluny--him, ye know, ez hed a game eye--fetched Flynn comin' outer
meetin' one Sunday, and it was only on account of his wife, and she a
second-hand one, so to speak. There was Walker, of Contra Costa,
plugged that young Sacramento chap, whose name I disremember, full o'
holes jest ez he was sayin' 'Good-by' to his darter. I mout hev done
all this if it had settled things to please me. For while you and Flynn
and that Sacramento chap ez all about the same sort o' men, Rosey's a
different kind from their sort o' women."
"Mademoiselle is an angel!" said De Ferrieres, suddenly rising, with an
excess of extravagance. "A saint! Look! I cram the lie, ha! down his
throat who challenges it.


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