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most probably would be sleeping

Le 31 juillet 2017, 06:17 dans Humeurs 0

The shrews made a frenzied rush into the undergrowth; Matthias found he was standing alone. After a few minutes Log-a-Log and Guosim ventured stealthily out again. Forgetting the stone, Guosim spoke in an awed voice, "D'you mean you actually intend to walk right up and speak to Snow?"

Matthias nodded. Log-a-Log continued where his comrade had left off: "You're going to ask the Cap'n where you can find Giant Poisonteeth, mouse? Er, I mean, Matthias. You are either very brave or raving mad."

"A little bit of both, I suppose," said the young mouse. "Do you know much about Captain Snow and Asmodeus?"

Both shrews trembled visibly. Guosim's voice had risen an octave. "Matthias, you must be crazy! Don't you know what you're walking into? Captain Snow . . . why, you'd be just a snack to him. And as for the other one - Giant Ice Eyes - who could even go near him? He eats as many shrews as he wants. No living creature can stop the poison-teeth SmarTone!"

A heart-rending moan arose from the shrews in the undergrowth.

Matthias still had the stone. He held it up and addressed them boldly. "Guerrilla Shrew comrades, I do not ask you to do my fighting. Merely point me in the direction of Captain Snow. Who knows? If I finally get the sword I may be able to liberate you."

Log-a-Log took the stone. "Matthias of Redwall, you are on our land. We will escort you. The Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower would never live down the shame of

having a stranger fight their battles for them. You may not always see us, but we will be close by. Come now."

Matthias moved north-eastwards with the company of shrews, whose numbers seemed to swell as they went along. At nightfall there were upwards of four hundred members of the Shrew Union seated around the campfire, breaking bread with the warrior from Redwall. That night Matthias slept inside a long hollow log with both ends disguised to make it appear solid QTS Hong Kong.

Like Basil, the shrews were masters of camouflage. Their very survival depended upon it.

Half an hour before dawn the young mouse was roused by a shrew who gave him an acorn cup full of sweet berry juice, a loaf of rough nutbread and some tasty fresh roots that he could not identify. By dawn's first light they were on the move again, marching until mid-morning. Matthias saw the edge of Mossflower Wood. The tall trees thinned out, bush and undergrowth were sparse. Before them lay an open field of long, lush grass dotted with buttercup and sorrel. In the distance he could see the abandoned farmhouse that Basil had spoken of. All the shrews had disappeared with the exception of Guosim and Log-a-Log. The latter pointed to the barn adjoining the farmhouse.

"You might find Captain Snow in there taking a nap. Now is the best time to approach him, after he has a full stomach from the night hunt."

The two guerrilla shrews melted back into the woods. Alone now, Matthias crossed the sunny field leading to the barn, just as Basil had taught him: zig-zag, crouch, wriggle and weave.

He tiptoed into the barn. There was no sign of an owl. In the semi-darkness Matthias could make out various old farming implements rusted with disuse. On one wall there was a huge stack of musty, dry straw bales. He decided to climb up the bales, in the hope of getting near Captain Snow, who  perched in the rafters Sharing economy.

Matthias scaled the packed straw. He stood on top and looked about. Nothing. He ventured forwards, and suddenly

Selina absolutely commands

Le 27 juin 2017, 06:07 dans Humeurs 0

He smiled an alarming smile at her, a smile so extraordinarily comprehensive, that she hurriedly asked under her breath if he were ill.

“No,” he said, and, in so saying, clasped the hand of the advancing friend with such vigour, that the unhappy man retreated swiftly with his unspoken congratulations on his lips.

“I’m not ill,” he muttered. “I’m only a little flustered, Selina.”

“Here’s Mrs. Short,” she said, hastily, “be nice to her. She’s a particular friend of mine.”

“A fine day, ma’am,” murmured the Mayor; “yes, the crops seem good—ought to have rain, though.”

Over by a French window opening on the lawn, Berty and Tom were watching the people and making comments.

“Always get mixed up about a bride and groom,” volunteered Tom. “Always want to congratulate her, and hope that he’ll be happy. It’s the other way, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” murmured Berty. “Oh, isn’t it a dream to think that they’re both happy?”

“Makes one feel like getting married oneself,” said Tom.


“Yes, doesn’t it? A wedding unsettles me. All the rest of the day I wish I were a bride.”

“Do you?” exclaimed Tom, eagerly.

“Yes, and then the next day I think what a goose I am. Being married means slavery to some man. You don’t have your own way at all.”

“Men never being slaves to their wives,” remarked Tom.

“Men are by nature lordly, overbearing, proud-spirited, self-willed, tyrannical and provoking,” said Berty, sweepingly.

But Tom’s thoughts had been diverted. “Say, Berty, where do those Tomkins girls get money to dress that way? They’re visions in those shining green things.”

“They spend too much of their father’s money on dress,” replied Berty, severely. “Those satins came from Paris. They are an exquisite new shade of green. I forget what you call it .”

“I guess old Tomkins is the slave there,” said Tom; then, to avoid controversy, he went on, hastily, “You look stunning in that white gown.”

“I thought perhaps Selina would want me for a bridesmaid,” said Berty, plaintively, “but she didn’t.”


“Too young and foolish,” said Tom, promptly; “but, I say, Berty, where did you get the gown?”

“Margaretta gave it to me. I was going to wear muslin, but she said I shouldn’t.”

“What is it anyway?” said Tom, putting out a cautious finger to touch the soft folds.

“It’s silk, and if you knew how uncomfortable I am in it, you would pity me.”

“Uncomfortable! You look as cool as a cucumber.”

“I’m not. I wish I had on a serge skirt and a shirt-waist.”

“Let me get you something to eat,” he said, consolingly. “That going to church and standing about here are tiresome.”

“Yes, do,” said Berty. “I hadn’t any breakfast, I was in such a hurry to get ready .”

“Here are sandwiches and coffee to start with,” he said, presently coming back.

“Thank you—I am so glad Selina didn’t have a sit-down luncheon. This is much nicer.”

“Isn’t it! You see, she didn’t want speeches. On an occasion like this, the Mayor would be so apt to get wound up that he would keep us here till midnight.”


Berty laughed. “And they would have lost their train.”

“There isn’t going to be any train,” said Tom, mysteriously.

“Aren’t they going to New York?”


“To Canada?”


“To Europe?”

“No—Jimson says he isn’t going to frizzle and fry in big cities in this lovely weather, unless , and she doesn’t command, so he’s going to row her up the river to the Cloverdale Inn.”

Berty put down her cup and saucer and began to laugh.

“Where are those sandwiches?” asked Tom, trying to peer round the cup studio for rent.

“Gone,” said Berty, meekly.

He brought her a new supply, then came cake, jellies, sweets, and fruit in rapid succession.

further evidence in our possession

Le 14 juin 2017, 09:40 dans Humeurs 0

The Sanborn Company’s directors were represented by the firm of Whitehead, Leuppold, Tyson and Leuppold. This was one of the firms previously mentioned which had offices upon an upper floor and included among its clients many large corporations closely identified with “The Interests.” A correspondence had been passing between Mr. Gallatin and Mr. Leuppold with all of which Tooker was familiar. Mr. Gallatin’s early letters stated that he hoped for a conference with Mr. Loring. Mr. Leuppold’s first replies were couched in polite formulas, the equivalent of which was, in plain English, that Mr. Gallatin might go to the devil, saying that Mr. Loring had nothing to do with the matter SmarTone. Mr. Gallatin’s reply ignored this suggestion, and again proposed a conference. Mr. Leuppold refused in abrupt terms. Mr. Gallatin gave[275] reasons for his request. Mr. Leuppold couldn’t see them. Mr. Gallatin patiently gave other reasons. Mr. Leuppold ignored this letter. Mr. Gallatin wrote another. Mr. Leuppold in reply considered the matter closed. Mr. Gallatin considered the matter just opened. Mr. Leuppold fulminated politely and satirically suggested intimidation. Mr. Gallatin regretted Mr. Leuppold’s implication but persisted, giving, as his reasons, the discovery of material evidence.

The next day Mr. Leuppold came in person, was shown into Mr. Gallatin’s office and Tooker had been present at the interview. It had been a memorable occasion. Mr. Leuppold wore that suave and confident manner for which he was noted and Gallatin received him with an old-fashioned courtesy and the deference of a younger man for an older, which left nothing to be desired. Accepting this as his due, Leuppold began in a fatherly way to impress upon Gallatin the utter futility of trying to win the injunction in the Court of Appeals. The contentions of Sanborn et al. had no basis either in law or in equity. Mr. Gallatin had doubtless been unduly influenced by doubtful precedents. He, Leuppold, was familiar with every phase of the case and had defended the previous suit which had been brought and lost by a legal firm in Philadelphia Contact Lens and Anterior Eye. There was absolutely nothing in Mr. Gallatin’s position as stated in his correspondence and he concluded by referring “his young friend” to certain marked passages in a volume which he had brought in under his arm. Gallatin read the passages through with interest and listened with a show of great seriousness to Mr. Leuppold’s interpretation of them. Mr. Leuppold had a mien which commanded attention. Gallatin gave it, but he said little in reply which could indicate his possible ground of action, except to express regret that Mr. Leuppold’s clients had[276] taken such an intolerant view of his own client’s claims and to deplore the unfortunate tone of Mr. Leuppold’s own letter of some days ago.

When it was quite clear to Mr. Leuppold that the young man was not to be moved by persuasion, his manner changed.

“I have done my best, Mr. Gallatin,” he said irritably, “to prove to you the utter futility of your course. My clients have nothing to fear. I am only trying to save them the expense of further litigation. But if you insist on bringing this case to trial, we will welcome the opportunity to show . We have been content for the sake of peace to let matters go on as they have been going, but if this suit is pressed, I warn you that it will be unfortunate for your clients .”

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