I grab my umbrella and swagger to the garage door, stopping long enough to turn around and say, Oh, Mom. I borrowed your shoes. I hope that's okay. / She nods dazedly. / Aren't they bitchin'? I ask Hadley, staring down at my feet. I pull out my phone and take a quick picture. Shoefie!

We see our carowsing tospot German souldiers, when they are most plunged in their cups and as drunke as rats, to have perfect remembrance of their quarter, of the watchword, and of their files.

All through that summer Heidi went up to the pasture every day with Peter and the goats, and grew brown as a berry in the mountain sunshine.

I would my daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her ear! would she were hearsed at my foot, and the ducats in her coffin!