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Digging for Gold

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You’ve got a somewhat indefinite way of stating things,” observed Douglas. “D’ee mean to say that it beats them in a good or a bad way?” Thus they went on hour after hour, becoming more and more oppressed at every step. The improvident among them drank up the precious water too fast, and towards evening began to sigh for relief, and to regard with longing eyes the supplies of their more self-denying companions. They consoled themselves, however, to some extent, with thoughts of the deep draughts they hoped to obtain at night. Graddy shook his head, and, admitting that the thing was out of the question, went silently forward. It was all that Frank himself could do to refrain from drinking the little that remained, for his very vitals seemed on fire. Indeed, in this respect, he suffered more than some of his companions, for while those of them who had not charge of the water-kegs and bottles experienced the pain of suffering and hopeless longing, he himself had the additional misery of having to resist temptation, for at any moment he could have obtained temporary relief by gratifying his desires at the expense of his companions. Well, then, sir, we won’t say no more about that, but wot coorse would ye advise the ship’s head to be laid?” He paused abruptly and started up, for his uncle had seized a book, which usually lay open on his desk, and was in fact a sort of dummy intended to indicate the “study” that was supposed to go on there. Next moment Frank sprang laughing into the passage, and the book flew with a crash against the panels of the door as he shut it behind him, leaving Mr Allfrey to solace himself with a large meerschaum, almost the only unfailing friend that he possessed.

She bit her lip, pulling up in her driveway. Maybe she was being silly, but everyone knew some horror story about how these things could end. A gullible, good-natured person who happened to have some money, finding a partner who was almost too good to be true... Next comes the gifts, the holidays, maybe even the wedding, often in some spectacular whirlwind romance, until all of a sudden they're found dead at the bottom of the stairs with only one name written into their will. What’s more, there was far more money tied up in the book collection that she even dared to imagine, and if Crowley got rid of Mr Fell, he’d take over everything. He could gut the whole shop and abscond with the profits, maybe even sell off the real estate to some new development just for good measure. It made too much sense. Even if Crowley didn’t get away with the murder, it would make little difference. The damage would be done. Not only would they lose a pillar of the community, they’d lose the essence of him, too. It would be like he’d never been there at all. Decades of memories, lost... She gulped. No, she thought, a fiery maternal urge taking hold. No way was that going to happen to Mr Fell. If this Crowley guy really did love him, he was going to have to prove it. If he didn't, then she wouldn't rest until he was tossed out on his ear.Excuse me, sir,” said Frank respectfully, “if I refuse to believe you, because I have heard you frequently express to friends your admiration of the view from your own drawing-room window—”

Not such a bad one!” cried Joe Graddy; “why, messmate, is that all you’ve got to say about it? Now I’ll give ’e my opinion on that head. This is where it lies—see here.” (Joe removed his pipe from his mouth and held up his fore-finger by way of being very impressive.) “I’ve travelled pretty well now in every quarter of the globe; gone right round it in fact, and found that it is round after all,—’cause why? I went in, so to speak, at one end from the west’ard an’ comed out at the same end from the east’ard, though I must confess it all appeared to me as flat’s a pancake, always exceptin’ the mountainous parts of it, w’ich must be admitted to be lumpy. Hows’ever, as I wos sayin’, I’ve bin a’most all over the world—I’ve smoked wi’ the Turks, an’ hobnobbled with John Chinaman, an’ scrambled through the jungles of the Indies, an’ gone aloft the Himalayas—” Not the point I was making," he deadpanned, though it was a very intentional coincidence. He pointed at the photograph on the left side of the wallet. It was a picture of Aziraphale, smiling, a glass of wine half-lifted to his lips while fireworks littered the dark sky behind him. He flashed it to the room. "That picture hasn't left my wallet since it was taken. It was just gone midnight, New Year's Day, at the turn of the millennium."Frank felt a sensation of indignation at being spoken to thus rudely, and in his heart he believed that if he was indeed fit for nothing, his sad condition was due much more to his uncle’s neglect than to his own perversity. He did not, however, give utterance to the thought, because he was of a respectful nature; he merely flushed and said,—“Really, uncle, you do me injustice. I may not be fit for much, and every day I live I feel bitterly the evil of a neglected education, but—” Why, man, I don’t mean house-painting. It is portrait and landscape painting that I refer to,” said Frank, laughing. Say no more!" said a man at a nearby table. "My brother's a goldsmith. He sells all sorts of stuff, real high-end, completely bespoke. It'll be right up Fell's alley."

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