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Updated: April 30, 2025
"I've seen her about, but I've never talked to her. What sort of woman is she?" "Quiet, sensible kind. Ye keep thinking, 'How reasonable that woman is, till ye wake up and find she's got ye hooked on one of the horns of yer own damfoolishness! Slick as they make 'em and straight as a string that's E. Eliot." "What do you want me to do about it?" impatiently.
Hopewell joined us, and we descended to the street, to commence our perambulation of the city; but it had begun to rain, and we were compelled to defer it until the next day. "Well, it ain't much matter, Squire," said Mr. Slick: "ain't that Liverpool, I see out of the winder? Well, then I've been to Liverpool.
Bear says, says she, 'I wonder where he goes every day, with his hair combed so slick? Grumble in the house. 'You'd better wish you looked half as nice, says Mrs. Bear. Grumble in the house. 'Well, I don't care if he is a grand rascal, he looks nice and clean, and that's more than anybody can say about you, says Mrs. Bear. Growl in the house. Mrs.
You may depend, Squire, the only way to tame a shrew, is by the cowskin. Grandfather Slick was raised all along the coast of Kent in Old England, and he used to say there was an old saying there, which, I expect, is not far off the mark: A woman, a dog, and a walnut tree, The more you lick 'em, the better they be. No. The Minister's Horn Mug. This Country, said Mr.
For one really exquisite palace ... on Long Island, say or even in Greenwich ... for one palace full of pictures from the Old World and exquisite things with avenues of trees and green lawns and a view of the blue sea, and lovely people about in slick dresses ... I'd sacrifice a hundred thousand of them, a million of them." She raised her hand feebly and snapped her fingers.
He's one of John's men. They say he's a regular devil-of-a-fellow with the ladies, Miss Helen. Look out he doesn't break your heart. Angela peered in from the kitchen and withdrew. They heard her guttural utterance, and thereafter a young Indian boy, black of eyes, slick of plastered hair and snow-white of apron, came in bringing the soup.
Slick, sais he, 'this is dreadful. I never saw any thing so bad before in all this country; but what can't be cured must be endured, I do suppose. We must only be good-natured and do the best we can, that's all. An emigrant house is no place to stop at, is it? There is a tin case, sais he, 'containin' a cold tongue and some biscuits, in my portmanter; please to get them out.
I am a man, and silks and laces confuse me. Yet I remember three young girls in a frontier town more than forty years ago. Mary Gentry was slender "skinny," we called her to tease her. Her dark-blue calico dress was clean and prim. Lettie Conlow was fat. Her skin was thick and muddy, and there was a brown mole below her ear. Her black, slick braids of hair were my especial dislike.
How true it is that if a female woman keeps dressed up slick, piles of extra good cookin' on hand, and her house oncommon clean, and she sets down in a rockin' chair, lookin' down the road for company. She a-layin' out to cook up some vittles to put on to her empty shelves when she goes into the house, she not a-dreamin' of company at that time of day. They come!
"We're bound to be somewhere near that old cabin on the Yuga. We'll set a date for her to come, and I can meet her there." It was, Ray was forced to admit, a highly commendable scheme. He sat back, contemplating all its phases. "It's slick enough," he agreed. "It ought to do the trick."
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