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Updated: May 24, 2025
"They been learnin' us teachin' us, I mean French. It's the darnedest language! Bread is pain. Can you beat that? If you want to ask for a piece of bread, you say like this: Donnay ma un morso doo pang. See?" "My!" breathed Tessie, all admiration. And within her something was screaming: "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! He knows French. And those girls that can row and everything.
"They been learnin' us teachin' us, I mean French. It's the darnedest language! Bread is pain. Can you beat that? If you want to ask for a piece of bread, you say like this: DONNAY MA UN MORSO DOO PANG. See?" "My!" breathed Tessie. And within her something was screaming: Oh, my God! Oh, my God! He knows French. And those girls that can row and swim and everything. And me, I don't know anything.
If you can't do it, I'll get them in that can. An' me and Dike, we're goin' back to our wheat and our apples and our hogs. Yessir! There ain't a bigger man-size job in the world." Un Morso doo Pang When you are twenty you do not patronize sunsets unless you are unhappy, in love, or both. Tessie Golden was both. Six months ago a sunset had wrung from her only a casual tribute, such as: "My!
One parasol being left free, she waved it about, and commanded the luggage and the menials to and fro. "Horace, we will sit there," she exclaimed, pointing to a comfortable place on the deck. Horace went and placed the shawls and the Guidebooks. "Hirsch, avy vou conty les bagages? tront sett morso ong too?" The German courier said, "Oui, miladi," and bowed a rather sulky assent.
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