Can't send it to the workhouse, you know, or a baby-farm, or a baby-farmer, like that woman.

He got so frightened about his plaguy soul, that he shrinked and sheered away from whales, for fear of after-claps, in case he got stove and went to Davy Jones.

silicited potash

Then suddenly a breath of air, Unheralded, from who knows where, Brings to my sense an odor faint, Unrecognized yet eloquent, And whiff! the dullsome street is gone — […]