To be sure! This will do! I shall be fain to think a summut of ee, now you can flamgudgin 'em a thisn. I did'nt a think it was innee. Why you will become a son of my own begettin. I write to tellee the good news, and that ee mightn't a kick down the milk. You have a sifflicated Sir Arthur. I could a told ee afore that you had a sifflicated Missee. But I was afeard as that you wur a too adasht. But I tellee it will do! Father's own lad! An ear-tickler! Ay, ay! That's the trade! Sugar the sauce, and it goes down glibly.

What frightens and disgusts me is those fearful letters from those who have been long dead, to those who linger on their wayfare through this valley of tears.

We require more supple work schedules that better adapt to all chronotypes, and not just one in its extreme.

Women now resembled well-rounded cabbages from which protruded a tiny head crushed beneath a Charlotte hat covered with plumes and gew-gaws.