“ ‘Whereabouts did you come acrost him?’ says Lucy. “ ‘On the turnpike; the most lonesomest, and the most desolatest part of it.[…]’

Most of the cyclists were members of the Pagans' Motorcycle Club of Washington.

In the ruined chamber, which was but scantily lighted by a small grated window, he perceived a large night owl, seated upon the floor. Big tears rolled from her large, brown eyes, and with a hoarse voice she sent forth her lamentations from her curved beak.

I’m grinning because someone told me a joke.