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Updated: May 19, 2025
He was the best boxer in the company, was smart in drill, could do long marches with the best of them, and was always ready to do a kindly action. Besides all that, his evident education and social superiority made him a marked man. It was rumoured, too, that he had refused a commission. "Of course I go," replied Penrose. "What, and listen to their pie-jaw?"
"She's got too much pie-jaw for me," said Tom sulkily. "I'm noan goin' to be a Methody parson." "Thou'st goin' to be a bigger fool than I thought tha ever could be," retorted his mother angrily. "That tak's a bit o' doin'," replied Tom as he fumbled with his boot laces. "Thou'st gi'en up a nice lass for a brazen-faaced 'uzzy; thou'rt an addle-'eaded ninny. Can'st'a see?"
"There is precious little pie-jaw, as you call it," was Penrose's response. "We have jolly good entertainments almost every night, and some of the fellows who come to talk to us are not half bad, I can tell you! Besides, I go there to rub up my conversational French." "Conversational French!" said Tom, only dimly understanding what he meant. "Dost 'a mean to say that they learn you French there?"
"Because they go and hear a lot of pie-jaw; they are a lot of ninnies, that's what they are." "They don't get hauled over the coals for misbehaviour, anyhow." "No, they haven't got pluck enough. I didn't come into the Army to become religious; I joined to fight the blooming Germans, and what's fighting got to do with religion?"
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