The temptation is to regard him [John Ogdon] as an idiot savant, a big talent bottled inside a recalcitrant body and accompanied by a personality that seems not just unremarkable, but almost entirely blank.
Yore a soight fer sore heyes, quoth he.
Have you got sore eyes, Bobball? I am sorry. You ought to go to the chemist, and
No, Missy. I'll go to the Canteen an' wash away all sech sorrers, byembye. Better'n the chimist, interrupted Bobball.
[…] there is a want of harmony between electrothanasia, as it takes place, and the humane ideal of death by electricity as it seems to have been pictured in the minds of the promotors of the new law.
If you like to eat spinach the word spinach is a purr word to you; it may make your mouth water. If the taste of spinach nauseates you, then the word spinach would be a snarl word.
