I dare say the sheriff, or the mayor and corporation, or some of those sort of people, would give him money enough, for the use of it, to run him up a mighty pretty neat little box somewhere near Richmond.
Sunning himself on the board steps, I saw for the first time Mr. Farquhar Fenelon Cooke. He was dressed out in broad gaiters and bright tweeds, like an English tourist, and his face might have belonged to Dagon, idol of the Philistines.
Morning, Lily. She handed me a Red Eye—coffee with a shot of espresso—and blew on her own soy chai latte.
Morning, Lily.
Now see if you can describe the whys behind some of your whats. In other words, write about why you look the way you do in terms of how you wear your hair or the kind of clothes you wear.
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