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Updated: June 16, 2025
The walls of the rock are perforated from top to bottom, with holes big enough for guns to squirt smoke and shells, but if the enemy should stay away from right in front of the holes, they might shoot till doomsday and never hit anything but fishing smacks and peddlers of oranges. Gibraltar is like a white elephant in a zoological garden.
I can see it in the corner of his eye. He banged his pandybat down on the desk and cried: Up, Fleming! Up, my boy! Fleming stood up slowly. Hold out! cried the prefect of studies. Fleming held out his hand. The pandybat came down on it with a loud smacking sound: one, two, three, four, five, six. Other hand! The pandybat came down again in six loud quick smacks.
This family was the life of every husking-bee, where each red ear of corn led to rollicking fun, resounding smacks on rosy cheeks, and of paring-bees when even numbered apple-seeds were the match-makers for bachelors and maids.
I am not accustomed to having my name bandied about and I won't have it I live a life of great simplicity, minding my own business, and I want everybody else to mind theirs. The whole affair is most contemptible and ridiculous and smacks of the tin-armor age. Willits should have been led quietly out of the room and put to bed and young Rutter should have been reprimanded publicly by his father.
I am in good hopes that he will not be found wanting. Some such thoughts, I believe, occurred to his Aunt. "That's right, Jack. What a man you are!" The rosy cheeks became carmine, and Jack flung himself upon his Aunt, and kissed her with resounding smacks.
Now there's Mark Twain for general reading, rain or shine, can't be beaten. American to the core, sir. Smacks of the soil. Perhaps he missed any warm love interest but a delightful humorist, sir. You read him regularly, I presume?" "Can't say I do." "Of course, sir, books are not all. I agree with our old friend, Montaigne, about that. By the way, which do you prefer, Dickens or Thackeray?"
Before leaving Burbure an amusing incident took place. The Battalion had paraded and was ready to move off. Suddenly two young women who were watching dashed into the ranks, embraced two of the men, kissed them with resounding smacks, and then disappeared in the gloom. The consternation of the two men caused great amusement to all.
"That's no real name. Smacks of the West Coast of Africa. Who gave it you?" "Mother Charcoal." "What's your country? What language do you talk?" "English." "Monstrous little of that, my boy. What's your native lingo, I mean? Greek, Turkish, Italian, Coptic what?" "Spanish," the boy confessed, in a low voice.
Deathly pale, his uncle lifted his eyebrows at the graceful gesture. "You do it fairly, nephew," he said ironically yet faintly, "fairly in such little things; but a gentleman, your uncle, your elder, with fists that smacks of low company!" Gaston made a frank reply as he smothered his pride "I am sorry for the blow, sir; but was the fault all mine?" "The fault? Is that the question?
Heaven is short and fat; she fills her dress as a pin-cushion fills its cover; she wears a cap and apron, and she is so full of platitudes that she would have burst had I not appeared as a providential outlet for them. Her accent is not of the farm, but of the town, and smacks wholly of the marts of trade. She is repetitious, too, as well as platitudinous.
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