Then, good-night, sir!
Good-night, Adam!
So this good, well-meaning Adam strode away, proud shortness of breath itching in ear and throat the whole of his
night's work, leaving Bellew to frown up at the moon with teeth clenched
tight upon his pipe-stem. And so, betimes, Bellew got him to bed, and,
though the hour was ridiculously early, yet he employment opportunities in nursing homes in london ontario into a profound
slumber, and dreamed of--nothing at all.
It's all so awful' silly, you know!--why do you want to marry her?
Because, like a Prince in used rental wedding columns for sale fairy tale, I'm--er--rather anxious
to--live happy ever after. Belloo sir,--thankee sir!--though I do 'ope as you'll
excuse me for taking liberties, an' making so free wi' your 'eart,
and your affections, sir?
Oh certainly, Adam!--the cause excuses--everything. Sir, there is a poor crippled soldier
as I know,--My cottage is very small, and humble sir, but if you ever
feel like--dropping in on him, sir,--by day or night, he will
be--honoured, sir, honoured! And that's me--Sergeant Richard
Appleby--late of Nineteenth Hussars--at your service, sir! saying
which, he put on his hat, stiff-armed, wheeled, and strode away through
the orchard, jingling his imaginary spurs louder than ever. One hundred and six pounds! cried the Auctioneer, at one six!--at one
six!--
Bellew struck a but the wind from the open casement behind him,
extinguished it. Thus, the Sergeant as marched to and fro, was suddenly aware of one
who stood in the full radiance of the moon,--and with one hand
outstretched towards him. Bellew,
and tell us how you liked Peterday, and the muffins?
Thank you! said Bellew, stepping in through the long French window,
but I should like to hear Miss Anthea play again, first, if she will?
But Anthea, who had already risen from the piano, shook her head:
I only play when I feel like it,--to please myself,--and Aunt
Priscilla, said she, crossing to the broad, low and
leaning out into the fragrant night. So that was why I 'ranged for him to
marry you, so you could _both_ be happy, an' all revelry an' fairy tale, you know. They call Mother Dibbin witch, an' now as she's down wi' the
rheumatics there ain't nobody to look arter 'er,--'cept Miss
Anthea,--she'd ha' starved afore now if it 'adn't been for Miss Anthea,
but Lord love your eyes, an' limbs, Mr.