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We found thim frozen. . . . A blizzard had shprung up, but we shtrapped th' stiffs on th' sled an' mushed ut oursilves tu save th' dogs. "I am a big man, an' shtrong . . . . but Yorkey was th' betther man av us tu that night havin less weight tu pack. I was all in dhrowsy, an' wanted tu give up th' ghost an' shleep an' shleep. . . . Nigh unto death I was. . . ." The murmuring voice died away.
Sunday was ever the day of Broth and Romance. Anna made the best broth and told the best stories. No Sunday was complete without a good story. On the doorstep that night she told one of her best. As she finished the church bell tolled the curfew. Then the days of the month were tolled off. "Sammy's arm is gey shtrong th' night," Willie said.
Richlun, iss teh mayn! teh mayn fot I kin trust!" The baker's middle parts bent out and his arms were drawn akimbo. Thus for ten seconds. "'Undt now, Mr. Richlun, do you kot teh shtrengdt for to shtart a noo pissness? Pecause, Toctor, udt pin seem to me Mr. So ten he sayss to me, 'Mister Reisen, I am yoost so sollut undt shtrong like a pilly-coat! Fot is teh noo pissness? 'Mr.
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