On account of your female Burbank, your scientess (scientistess is a twister. Peder Piber et a peg of piggled pebbers) won’t play ball with W R.

Other girls in the foster home are eager to destroy her and get her kicked out of the place. It's a tough situation.

The walls were colonial ramparts—logs of jarrah spiked into masonry—with wings as strong as Church buttresses.

...unless we will wink against our own natural Light, we are without any further Scruple to acknowledge That God does exist.