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"Lucky for thee," said Bill Blacksmith, "as thee bee'st so shart and fat, Jan. Dree on us wor a gooin' to shutt 'ee, till us zeed how fat thee waz, Jan." "Lor now, Bill!" I answered 'un, wi' a girt cold swat upon me: "shutt me, Bill; and my own waife niver drame of it!"

Sophie moved beneath the light of a hole in the roof. "Nah none dies here excep' falling off ricks and such. In London they died." He plucked a lock of wool from his blue smock. "They was no staple neither the Elphicks nor the Moones. Shart and brittle all of 'em. Dead they be seventeen year, for I've been here caretakin' twenty-five." "Who does all the wool belong to downstairs?" George asked.

'Lucky for thee, said Bill Blacksmith, 'as thee bee'st so shart and fat, Jan. Dree on us wor a gooin' to shutt 'ee, till us zeed how fat thee waz, Jan. "'Lor now, Bill! I answered 'un, wi' a girt cold swat upon me: 'shutt me, Bill; and my own waife niver drame of it!"

"The shart was in old times a tattooed mark.... In the patriarchal story of Cain...the institution of blood revenge is connected with a 'mark' which Jehovah appoints to Cain. Can this be anything else than the sharat, or tribal mark, which every man bore on his person?" Robertson Smith, Kinship in Ancient Arabia, p.215. "Not I," said the sailor; "I'm no scholar."

Without any preliminary, she at once demanded why he had not come down to see them. 'Mary, said he, calling the servant, as if he did not hear her, 'Some ale, and the ginger wine, and the grey-beard mebbe you'd like a drop a' shart' to me; but I declined. She repeated her question, but Uncle Bennet was looking towards me. 'The wuts be very forrard, said he, 'I got some a-most ready to cut.

I think these shart horses in the royal stables, which are always kept in galloping-condition, are the outcome of the old days of flight or fight, when it was necessary to be always prepared for raid, attack, or treachery, and so often man's best friend in pressing need was his horse. 'A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

Yuh wudn't 'member thar was a feller back here chewin' his fingers off worryin' about yuh . . . an' workin' the shart offen his back an' gittin' thin fer the fambly, an' not even a horse to git about. . . . Nobody but a bunch o' roughnecks an' houn's 'poligisin' tuh yuh, Juno, fer callin' them critters houn's. They're c'yutes, that's wot they are.

"Cut it shart, Jenny, cut it shart, or I'm off!" "There, I did ought to think more o' your feelin's," said Jenny, drying her eyes with surprising promptitude. "I beg your pardon I were that undone, ye see, wi' lookin' round at all my poor Abel's things, what's to be mine now. They do all seem to speak so plain to I the very clock "