There was a certayne man called Simon, which beforetyme in the same cite, used witchecrafte and bewithched the people, sayinge that he was a man that coulde do greate thinges.
So Tommy sang the following verse: “The cold got worse, The frog got hoarse, Till croaking he scared a polliwog!”
But he flew no “Hoover flags,” pockets inside-out, and the slip of paper the editor at the World had given him had led to the job behind the soda fountain in Brooklyn.
The male part of the upper class are […] a parcel of poor, shaking, nervous paillards.
アカウントを持っていませんか？ 新規登録
アカウントを持っていますか？ ログイン
DiQt（ディクト）
無料
★★★★★★★★★★
