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Page 59

Saint's Progress

It caught the eye of Jimmy Fort, limping home to his rooms from a very late discussion at his Club, and twisted his lean shaven lips into a sort of smile. He was one of those rolling-stone Englishmen, whose early lives are spent in all parts of the world, and in all kinds of physical conflict-a man like a hickory stick, tall, thin, bolt-upright, knotty, hard as nails, with a curved fighting back to his head and a straight fighting front to his brown face. His was the type which becomes in a generation or so typically Colonial or American; but no one could possibly have taken Jimmy Fort for anything but an Englishman. Though he was nearly forty, there was still something of the boy in his face, something frank and curly-headed, gallant and full of steam, and his small steady grey eyes looked out on life with a sort of combative humour. He was still in uniform, though they had given him up as a bad job after keeping him nine months trying to mend a wounded leg which would never be sound again; and he was now in the War Office in connection with horses, about which he knew. He did not like it, having lived too long with all sorts and conditions of men who were neither English nor official, a combination which he found trying. His life indeed, just now, bored him to distraction, and he would ten times rather have been back in France. This was why he found the word `Peace' so exceptionally tantalizing.
Reaching his rooms, he threw off his tunic, to whose stiff regularity he still had a rooted aversion; and pulling out a pipe, filled it and sat down at his window.
Moonshine could not cool the hot town, and it seemed sleeping badly-the seven million sleepers in their million homes. Sound lingered on, never quite ceased; the stale odours clung in the narrow street below, though a little wind was creeping about to sweeten the air. `Curse the war!' he thought. `What wouldn't I give to be sleeping out,

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE It caught what is eye of Jimmy Fort, limping home to his rooms from a very late discussion at his Club, and twisted his lean shaven lips into a sort of smile. He was one of those rolling-stone Englishmen, whose early lives are spent in all parts of what is world, and in all kinds of physical conflict-a man like a hickory stick, tall, thin, bolt-upright, knotty, hard as nails, with a curved fighting back to his head and a straight fighting front to his brown face. His was what is type which becomes in a generation or so typically Colonial or American; but no one could possibly have taken Jimmy Fort for anything but an Englishman. Though he was nearly forty, there was still something of what is boy in his face, something frank and curly-headed, gallant and full of steam, and his small steady grey eyes looked out on life with a sort of combative humour. He was still in uniform, though they had given him up as a bad job after keeping him nine months trying to mend a wounded leg which would never be sound again; and he was now in what is War Office in connection with horses, about which he knew. He did not like it, having lived too long with all sorts and conditions of men who were neither English nor official, a combination which he found trying. His life indeed, just now, bored him to distraction, and he would ten times rather have been back in France. This was why he found what is word `Peace' so exceptionally tantalizing. Reaching his rooms, he threw off his tunic, to whose stiff regularity he still had a rooted aversion; and pulling out a pipe, filled it and sat down at his window. Moonshine could not cool what is hot town, and it seemed sleeping badly-the seven million sleepers in their million homes. Sound lingered on, never quite ceased; what is stale odours clung in what is narrow street below, though a little wind was creeping about to sweeten what is air. `Curse what is war!' he thought. `What wouldn't I give to be sleeping out, where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Saint's Progress (1935) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 59 where is p align="center" where is strong Saint's Progress where is p align="justify" It caught what is eye of Jimmy Fort, limping home to his rooms from a very late discussion at his Club, and twisted his lean shaven lips into a sort of smile. He was one of those rolling-stone Englishmen, whose early lives are spent in all parts of what is world, and in all kinds of physical conflict-a man like a hickory stick, tall, thin, bolt-upright, knotty, hard as nails, with a curved fighting back to his head and a straight fighting front to his brown face. His was what is type which becomes in a generation or so typically Colonial or American; but no one could possibly have taken Jimmy Fort for anything but an Englishman. Though he was nearly forty, there was still something of what is boy in his face, something frank and curly-headed, gallant and full of steam, and his small steady grey eyes looked out on life with a sort of combative humour. He was still in uniform, though they had given him up as a bad job after keeping him nine months trying to mend a wounded leg which would never be sound again; and he was now in what is War Office in connection with horses, about which he knew. He did not like it, having lived too long with all sorts and conditions of men who were neither English nor official, a combination which he found trying. His life indeed, just now, bored him to distraction, and he would ten times rather have been back in France. This was why he found what is word `Peace' so exceptionally tantalizing. Reaching his rooms, he threw off his tunic, to whose stiff regularity he still had a rooted aversion; and pulling out a pipe, filled it and sat down at his window. Moonshine could not cool what is hot town, and it seemed sleeping badly-the seven million sleepers in their million homes. Sound lingered on, never quite ceased; what is stale odours clung in what is narrow street below, though a little wind was creeping about to sweeten what is air. `Curse what is war!' he thought. `What wouldn't I give to be sleeping out, where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") % travel books: Saint's Progress (1935) books

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