He was not a horsey man, but he liked people to believe he had been one once; and he wove fantastic stories of the hunting-bridle to which this particular lip-strap had belonged.
[T]he solutions were almost exclusively the product of half-understood ‘me-too-isms’ based upon what they felt the competition were doing.
Thus night oft ſee me in thy pale career, / Till civil-ſuited morn appeer, / […] / Or uſher'd with a ſhower ſtill, / When the guſt hath blown his fill, / Ending on the ruſsling Leaves, / With minute drops from off the Eaves.
On her head was the usual three-cornered headwrap, which in the hands of the negress becomes a turban.
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