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Updated: June 5, 2025
"Sandy's a fulish man," said Dauvid, when we landit at the shop door. "Ye micht as weel tell me that twice twa's fower, Dauvid," says I. "Fulish is no' the wird for't." "There's been some haiverin' amon' them aboot rinnin'; an' Sandy, like an auld fule, had been bouncin' aboot what he could do," gaed on Dauvid, withoot mindin' what I said.
"No' yet," he says, never lattin' wink that he noticed the dab I had at him; "but I'm beginnin' to see throo't, I think. Gin I had anither glisk or twa at her I'll be on the richt side o' her, I'se wadger." Fient a glint o' sense cud I see in Sandy's palaver; so I says, says I "What is this fift proposition you're haiverin' aboot?"
But this was ower muckle for me; so I juist roared oot, "Gude-nicht, ye haiverin' eedeits," as heich as I cud yawl, an' up the yaird at what I cud flee. Sandy was beddit on the back o' ten o'clock, an' he was snorin' like a dragoon when I gaed up the stair. But when I got anower he jamp up a' o' a sudden, like's he'd gotten a fleg.
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