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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Half-a-dozen hits like that a-piece, sir," nodded Tom Breeks. "There goes another!" Jim shouted. "Not quite, my lad," interposed Ned Thewk, though Peter Bartholomew was reeling in confirmation. His blow at Jim missed, but came sharply in the swing on Wilfrid's cheek-bone.
The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting. Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade. Ah, poor dogsbody! he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt and a few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?
"I must return to my humble station, and woo my rustic muse in my wonted way, at the plough-tail." 1787, to the Earl of Buchan. He has no high ideal of the poet or the poet's office; indeed quite a low and contracted notion of both: "Fortune! if thou'll but gie me still Hale breeks, a scone, and whiskey gill, An' rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, Tak' a' the rest."
The parading of the drum, the trombone, a horn, two whistles, and a fife, in front of Hillford booth, caught the fancy of the Clubmen, who roared out parting adjurations that the music was not to be spared; and that Tom Breeks was a musical fellow, with a fine empty pate, if any one of the instruments should fail perchance.
"Now we will go on to what is known as Description and Recognition of Targets. Supposing I had sent one of you forward into that landscape as a scout. By the way, what is a scout?" Dead silence, as usual. "Come along! Tell me, somebody! Private Mucklewame?" "They gang oot in a procession on Setter-day efternoons, sirr, in short breeks," replies Mucklewame promptly.
"Ken me," cried the maid; "I'm well kent as a bad sixpence a lass that should ha' been a lad wi' work to do or fighting, instead o' sitting sitting like a peat stack, or" with a fine flare o' colour "like a midden waiting to be 'lifted." "Ye're hard to please, my dear; there's many a lad wid be sair put oot if ye took to the breeks. . . ."
Tom Breeks had either taken in too much air, or the ale that had hitherto successfully prompted him was antipathetic to the nice delicacy of an apologue; for now his arm began to work and his forehead had to be mopped, and he lashed the words "Union and Harmony" right and left, until, coming on a sentence that sounded in his ears like the close of his speech, he stared ahead, with a dim idea that he had missed a point.
Two hours and five cocktails later, they were still at the table, and they had taught Paula Quinton some twenty verses of The Heathen Geeks, They Wear No Breeks, including the four printable ones. Four days later they stood together as the aircar passed over the Kraggork Swamps pleasantly close together, von Schlichten realized.
Gavin seemed to see many women crying, and his mother staring at them with a face suddenly painted white, and next to hear a voice that was his own saying, "Never mind, mother; I'll be a man to you now, and I'll need breeks for the burial." But Adam required no funeral, for his body lay deep in the sea.
After that, you shall be presented at Court, when you've learnt to curtsey prettily instead of turning somersaults. You must let your hair grow, Nonette, and leave off wearing breeks. You've got to be a credit to me." "Oh, damn!" said Toby in dismay. "I mean oh, bother!" "Yes, it's a good thing you mean only that, isn't it?" laughed Saltash.
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