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Updated: May 19, 2025
And now we face to the east, with the setting sun behind us sending its rays full upon the central interest of the view, and thus we gaze our fill upon Te Puke Tapu. A small but deep bay forms a bend in the shore of the river, guarded by steep heights on either hand. On the left a long promontory runs out into the Pahi, as though to meet the township bluff upon its further shore.
Nearly makes a guy puke to think of it." Fuselli spoke in a whining voice, watching the top of the mast move like a pencil scrawling on paper, back and forth across the mottled clouds. "You belly-achin' again?" A brown moon-shaped face with thick black eyebrows and hair curling crisply about a forehead with many horizontal wrinkles rose from the deck on the other side of Fuselli.
Do, man, do! and don't puke. Leave Eugene to lounge through life. He does it nicely. You're made for more." Stafford looked up at him as he laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's all misery," he said. "Now, yes. But not always." "And it's not what I meant." "No, you meant to be a saint. Many of us do." "I feel what you mean, but I have scruples." Ayre looked at him curiously.
Then there's the bee: in my opinion, they're divine insects because they puke honey, though there are folks that claim that they bring it from Jupiter, and that's the reason they sting, too, for wherever you find a sweet, you'll find a bitter too." He was just putting the philosophers out of business when lottery tickets were passed around in a cup.
Andrew expressed emotion, but not of a kind the Countess liked a relative to be seen exhibiting; for in emotion worthy Andrew betrayed to her his origin offensively. 'Go away and puke, if you must, she said, clipping poor Andrew's word about his 'dear boy. She could not help speaking in that way he was so vulgar.
"It smells so really badly. If I go near it I'm gonna puke." "I changed your diapers. It can't be worse than that. Plug your nose and try to do a little. I'm tired of being the maid around here." "I'm not a maid too." "It's your cat." "It's older than me. How come it's my cat?" "My dear, when it goes to the bathroom in areas it shouldn't it becomes your cat." "How come?"
Harrison's description of England breathes an animosity to foreign clothes, plainly founded on commercial jealousy: "Neither was it ever merrier in England than when an Englishman was known abroad by his own cloth, and contented himself at home with his fine carsey hosen, and a mean slop: his coat, gown, and cloak of brown, blue, or puke, with some pretty furniture of velvet or of fur, and a doublet of sad tawny, or black velvet, or other comely silk, without such cuts and garish colours, as are worn in these days, and never brought in but by the consent of the French, who think themselves the gayest men when they have most diversities of rags and change of colours about them."
Did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? What was the most revolting piece of obscenity in all your career of crime? Go the whole hog. Puke it out! Be candid for once. BLOOM: Don't ask me! Our mutual faith. Pleasants street.
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