Look, said Bobbie, I've made the nest all right again. Give me the bit of stick to mark your initial name on it. But how can you? Your letter and Peter's are the same. P. for Peter, P. for Phyllis. I put F. for Phyllis, said the child of that name. That's how it sounds. The swallows wouldn't spell Phyllis with a P., I'm certain-sure.
Once fretting about momly things like education, health care, poor folks and breathing air with no detectable color or texture—girlie-man Democratic stuff—security moms have moved on to bigger frights.
“Oh! is hur wull—I know hur run dro' the hedge, and I'll put summit ther to stop the traffic; foxen be but warmints a'ter all's said and done, and I'll hae the ould chap's brush afore to-morrow night.”
The ways of Heav'n are dark and intricate, / Puzzled in mazes, and perplex'd with error.
