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Updated: May 25, 2025
"My hair is every-which-way; Lime, how can I be married so?" They were nearing the horse and buggy now, and Lime laughed. "Oh, we'll stop at Jennings's and fix up. Milt knows what's up, and has told his mother by this time. So just laugh as jolly as you can."
She was completely dressed, even to her hat and shoes, but she mourned: "My hair is every-which-way; Lime, how can I be married so?" They were nearing the horse and buggy now, and Lime laughed. "Oh, we'll stop at Jennings's and fix up. Milt knows what's up, and has told his mother by this time. So just laugh as jolly as you can."
Above stairs, a mediaeval maze of corridors long and short, complicated by many unexpected steps and staircases and turns and enigmatic doors, ran every-which-way and as a rule landed one in the wrong room, linking together, in all, some two-score bed-chambers.
"Yes, what is it?" she answered, suspending operations for a moment to hear. "Mother, if I had to kill all the ants in the world," called Mark, "I'd a great deal rather they were all gathered up together in a heap than running around every-which-way, wouldn't you?" "For goodness' sakes, what a silly baby thing to say!" commented Paul with energy.
"We don't know the exact way to camp," continued Will, "the night is coming on in a hurry, the trees are dripping with water, and in lots of places they have been thrown down every-which-way by that hurricane. We never can make camp to-night, that's sure!" "I'm glad you understand that, Will, because I was just going to break it to you. No, it would be foolish for us to try such a thing.
"Tell me if you can remember, was that other aeroplane headed straight up the lake the last you saw it in the early morning light?" Frank asked. "That's right, Frank; but then I couldn't say just how long they kept along that same course. When those hundreds of old crows came sailing along on the wind, cawing to beat the band, and going every-which-way, I lost sight of the biplane.
It was queer country, the highway running between swamps of black water, where gray trees stood veiled in gray moss. Gray cabins sat every-which-way in the clearing, heavy shutters swinging at their glassless windows. A pale, thin girl talked to Rose-Ellen. She was Polish, and her name was Rose, too.
He says one of the worst things with which they have to contend is the rats; and then he points out places in the wall, down next to the ground, that he has filled with little billets of wood, stuck in every-which-way, in his efforts to keep the rats from preying on them, at night. Let us foot up the column.
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