"Never fear, you'll have it back safe and sound. I'll make good kitchen of it, so it won't be worn out, and if they hang me, I'll take care they'll do so under all my true name and title."
Mr. Wolley’s masheen broak down aboot a fortnite ago, and the auld gintleman is like a child widout his favrite toy. He do be wayting ivery day for the new carbureater to arrive, and manewile he spinds all his time fooling aboot wid the masheen that isn’t rooning anny longer. Mrs. Wolley has dridful narviss hidakes, injooced so she told me in confydunse as mooch by her wurry over Miss Claire as frum anny uther cause.
An Unfinished Race.
"This is the kind of unwholesome rot he tries to poison your mind with." He opened the cover, and read the verse on the fly-leaf; next moment he flung the book to the farther end of the room.
arrangement adapted for ready reference. It is true that the botanists of the 17th century and Linnaeus himself often spoke of facility of use as a great object to be kept in view in constructing a system; but every one who brought out a new system did so really because he believed that his own was a better expression of natural affinities than those of his predecessors. If some like Ray and Morison were more influenced by the wish to exhibit natural affinities by means of a system, and others as Tournefort and Magnol thought more of framing a perspicuous and handy arrangement of plants, yet it is plain from the objections which every succeeding systematist makes to his predecessors, that the exhibition of natural affinities was more or less clearly in the minds of all as the main object of the system; only they all employed the same wrong means for securing this end, for they fancied that natural affinities could be brought out by the use of a few easily recognised marks, whose value for systematic purposes had been arbitrarily determined. This opposition between means and end runs through all systematic botany from Cesalpino in 1583 to Linnaeus in 1736.
"It need have only slight power," Hartford said. "It would throw its projectile only forcefully enough to penetrate the fabric of a safety-suit."
I know nothing of Miss Elizabeth Robins’ private affairs, but if my intuition guides me rightly, she has had a tragic life and her life is still and always will be tragic. Her temperament is not dissimilar to Charlotte Brontë’s, that great little woman whose sense of the ridiculous was so great but whose power of expressing it was so small.
"Indeed," Hartford agreed. "But how do I prove to the troopers that the monad sweeps Kansas cleaner than their Barracks floors?"
"And you want to join the clique?"
McCray had no idea where he was, and no way to find out.详情 ➢
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