Some old turpentine men say the jook-house was merely a bare building where the Negro laborers could frolic.
They shall wear clothes of fine silk, and sit face to face around the table, and comment on the fine weather […] And should you hear a small trumpet in the distance, you will ask: “More tea vicar?” and proffer a cucumber sandwich.
She seemed awful nice when I met her yesterday.
The Hensleys are neighbours from hell.
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