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Updated: May 10, 2025
"Get out of the way, can't you " "By your life and mine, Betsy " "Gord blesh you, mishter, a toisand year shall ye live." "Eat the best Motsos. Only fourpence " "The bones must go with, marm. I've cut it as lean as possible." Charoises! "Come and have a glass of Old Tom, along o' me, sonny." "Fine plaice! Here y'are! Hi! where's yer pluck! S'elp me " "Bob! Yontovdik! Yontovdik! Only a bob!"
Now the Shalotten Shammos is busy from morning to night filling up charity-forms, artistically multiplying the poor man's children and dividing his rooms. Now is holocaust made of a people's bread-crumbs, and now is the national salutation changed to "How do the Motsos agree with you?" half of the race growing facetious, and the other half finical over the spotted Passover cakes.
You could ship 'em two garments short in every order; you could send 'em goods which ain't no more like the sample than bread is like motsos; you could overcharge 'em in your statements; you could even draw on 'em one day after their account is due, and still they would buy goods of you; but so soon as you start to butt into their family affairs, Mawruss, that's the finish, Mawruss.
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