With no warning a gang of little snots — none larger or older than I was — threw me to the ground, pulled my knickers below my knees — without any explanation, and allowed me to get up.
Don't let [presidential press secretary Ron] Ziegler shoot off at the mouth without our knowledge.
{note that it is the custom in francophone newsgroups to vousvoyer; I will have none of it. In italophone newsgroups, si da del tu.}
Our bearers now began to call themselves Natal Kafirs, fearing to say they were Zulus before the young Amaswazi warriors, beplumed, beshielded, bespeared, perched about here and there in picturesque unconsciousness of their picturesqueness.
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