I got bitches askin' me about the code for the Wi-Fi / So they can talk about they timeline / And show me pictures of they friends

He has as fine a hand at picking a pocket as a woman.

[]Then I slipped up again with a box of matches, fired my heap of paper and rubbish, put the chairs and bedding thereby, led the gas to the affair, by means of an india-rubber tube, and waving a farewell to the room left it for the last time. / You fired the house! exclaimed Kemp. / Fired the house. It was the only way to cover my trail – and no doubt it was insured.[]

And as the cheery cry swelled farther and farther, the train drew out, everybody looking from the windows as the patient soldiery straggled back campward. "