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Updated: June 10, 2025
Damme! they're wuss'n wot you've got on." The small devil began to have the argument all its own way. If this man took his wife back perhaps he'd have to wear those trousers. "Ah," Ford pursued, "she ain't got no milder. An', my davy, wot a jore!" Simmons began to feel that this was no longer his business.
I'm a tryin' to learn it, you see, with a view to bein' more sosherbler. Bong jore" And thus took his departure. After this we saw him frequently. In fact it became his habit to follow Mademoiselle Esmeralda in all her visits to our apartment.
One particular friend of mine, a good-humoured Cockney, grinned sheepishly as he replied confidentially, "Well, matey, I done it to get away from my old gal's jore now you've got it!" Another recruit, a pale, intelligent youth, who knew Nietzsche by heart, glanced at me coldly as he answered, "I enlisted because I am an Englishman."
The names of the hostages detained are as follows: Chenohe, Ousanatanah, Tallichama, Tallitahe, Quarrasatahe, Connasaratah, Kataetoi, Otassite of Watogo, Ousanoletah of Jore, Kataletah of Cowetche, Chisquatalone, Skiagusta of Sticoe, Tanaesto, Wohatche, Wyejah, Oucachistanah, Nicolche, Tony, Toatiahoi, Shallisloske, and Chistie.
A few minutes after her arrival we usually heard a timid knock upon the outer door, which proved to emanate from Monsieur, who always entered with a laborious "Bong jore" and always slipped deprecatingly into the least comfortable chair near the fire, hurriedly concealing his hat beneath it. In him also my Clélie became much interested.
So that when I was trying to read or to reflect, it was by no means exhilarating to my mind to hear from the next room that: "The la dy ce sel i a now si zed the weep on and all though the boor ly vil ly an re tain ed his vy gor ous hold she drew the blade through his fin gers and hoorl ed it far be hind her dryp ping with jore."
Since he appeared to have nothing further to say we went down-stairs together. At the door we parted. "I'm a-goin'," he remarked, "to the Champs Elizy to promenard. Where are you a-goin'?" "To the Boulevard Haussmann, Monsieur, to give a lesson," I returned. "I will wish you good-morning." "Good-mornin'," he answered. "Bong" reflecting deeply for a moment "Bong jore.
But the one thing of which he was proud, the one picture of his life he most delighted to recall, was himself as manager of a negro minstrel troupe, in a hired drum-major's uniform, marching down the streets of Sacramento at the head of the brass band in burnt cork and regimentals. "The star of the troupe," he told them, "was the lady with the iron jore.
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