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Updated: July 1, 2025


"I don't know much more about motors than elephants," Nick confessed. "No use pretendin' to be an expert, but I'm going to learn the whole game from A to Z." "I've got a machine here now," said the man of the garage, "that might suit you if you want something first-rate. Belongs to a millionaire who went broke before he'd had his auto a week. Best American on the market, and better than new.

Wot's the use o' cryin' before ye're hurt, or pretendin' to know the futur' whin ye knows nothin' about it? Ye're no better than a baboon, Bunco, as I've fraiquintly had occasion to tell ye before now." Bunco made no reply to this, but smiled slightly as he changed his position to one of greater comfort, and lit a fresh cigarette.

"'I know, said I, 'you had the smallest foot and ankle of anybody in our country. My! what fine-spun glass heels you had! Where in the world have you stowed them to? pretendin' to look down for them. "'Kept them to kick you with, she said, 'if you are sassy. "Thinks I to myself, what next? as the woman said to the man who kissed her in the tunnel, you are coming out, Liddy.

"Jake Poole, the deputy sheriff," repeated the other. "I reckon he's here pretendin' to hunt for Montagu Trixit like the San Francisco detectives that kem up yesterday." Masterton with difficulty repressed a start. He had heard of Poole, but did not know him by sight. "I don't think I understand," he said coolly.

"You're a sly one, you are," George gloated "always signin' your name 'P. Sybarite' and pretendin' your maiden monaker was 'Peter'! But now we know you! Take off them whiskers Perceval!" A really wise mind-reader would have called a policeman, then and there; for mayhem was the least of the crimes contemplated by P. Sybarite.

Look at Churchill, that chap was one of us once, he was born to lead the clarses, an' now look at him leadin' the marses, up to his neck in Radical dirt and pretendin' he likes it. He doesn't, but he's a man with an eye in his head and he knows what we are, a boneless lot without organisation.

Yes, I like an English church; but as for Minister pretendin' for to come for to go for to preach agin that beautiful long-haired young rebel, Squire Absalom, for 'stealin' the hearts of the people, why it's rather takin' the rag off the bush, ain't it?

So it's you will get the place an' the money, an' goodness knows, Miss Lucy, you've earnt it. The men all agreed to that." "You know, Tony, Miss Webster is my aunt," began Lucy in a warning voice, loyalty resenting this criticism. "Yes, but there's aunts an' aunts," interrupted the lad with a grin. "It's no use pretendin' you ain't drawn the devil of a one, 'cause I know.

"Look at that two-year-old, now," he would say, waving a cinnamon-brown hand toward the salient point of the picture. "Why, dang my hide, the critter's alive. I can jest hear him, 'lumpety-lump, a-cuttin' away from the herd, pretendin' he's skeered. He's a mean scamp, that there steer. Look at his eyes a-wallin' and his tail a-wavin'. He's true and nat'ral to life.

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