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Updated: May 27, 2025
The slish of a line, the flutter of a fly dropping softly on the farther edge of the pool and then the shriek of your reel, buzzing up the quiet hillside, was answered by a loud snort, as the deer that lived there bounded away in alarm, calling her two fawns to follow.
George packed his small hand-bag; placed upon the table money to pay his bill; lifted the crime-stained basket; addressed the red-headed Pinner boy: "Stop that sniffling. Take that bag. You are to come with me. If you make a sound or try to run away you know what will happen to you. What did I tell you would happen?" "Cut me 'ead off." "Right off. Right off slish! Give me your hand; come on."
“And my brush,” said Sprinkler. “Where you go, dear Gerwazy, there will I go too, while I have a hand, and while this splish-splash is in my hands. Two are a pair! In Heaven’s name, my Gerwazy! You have your sword, I have my sprinkling-brush! In Heaven’s name, I will sprinkle, and do you strike; and thus slish and slash, splish and splash; let others prate!”
And when he wished to bring Ellen Culpepper to time he would begin in a low terrorful voice, "And I saw the man take a g-r-e-a-t l-o-n-g knife d-r-i-p-p-i-n-g with r-e-d-b-l-o-o-d out of his t-e-e-t-h and go slish, k-slish," but he never got farther than this, for the girl would begin shaking, and if they were alone, would run to him and grab him and put her hand to his mouth to make him stop.
“Orders are good on parade,” interrupted Sprinkler. “We had a standing order in the Kowno brigade, a short and pointed one: ‘Strike terror and be not terrified; fight and do not surrender; advance always, and make quick strokes, slish, slash!’ ” “Those are my principles,” squealed Razor. “What’s the use of spilling ink and drawing up acts of confederation? Do you want one?
He could tell by the uneven splash of the oars, the slish along the surface as a crab was caught, and the muffled curse as the man recovered himself. Could it be the Parson come to his assistance? The question answered itself. The bows of a boat thrust on him through the mist. He saw a man's back, giving to his stroke. "Hi!" he gasped, the boat's nose hard on top of him. The rower glanced round.
It was as good as a peep-show, and indeed much better. "The snow has melted," gurgled the water, "here I am." It was everywhere. The sunshine made the rich green mosses look dry, but in reality they were wet, and so was everything else. Slish! slosh! Put your feet where you would, the water was everywhere.
It is very droll, this affair of the names. It is like the lottery." Silence for a few moments, broken only by the ripple of water under the bow of the canoe, the persistent patter of the rain all around us, and the SLISH, SLISH of the paddle with which Ferdinand, my Canadian voyageur, was pushing the birch-bark down the lonely length of Lac Moise.
I have come to ask you to tell me the rest about that new carriage do you remember?" The voice in the canoe behind me ceased. The rain let up. The SLISH, SLISH of the paddle stopped. The canoe swung sideways to the breeze. I heard the RAP, RAP, RAP of a pipe on the gunwale, and the quick scratch of a match on the under side of the thwart. "What are you doing, Ferdinand?"
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