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Updated: May 25, 2025
I s'y, you know, it must feel awf'ly peculiar to get bowled over on a d'y like this. I'd rather 'ave it on a cowld and frosty morning, wouldn't you? 'Ow are you off now, for the notion of a future styte? Do you cotton to the tea-fight views, or the old red 'ot boguey business? 'Oh, dry up! said the captain. 'No, but I want to know, said Huish.
I s'y, you know, it must feel awf'ly peculiar to get bowled over on a d'y like this. I'd rather 'ave it on a cowld and frosty morning, wouldn't you? 'Ow are you off now, for the notion of a future styte? Do you cotton to the tea-fight views, or the old red-'ot bogey business?" "O, dry up!" said the captain. "No, but I want to know," said Huish.
'But ye believt it yersel, Kirsty! 'Wad ye hae me leear and hypocrite forby, to ca' fowk ill names for sayin what I believt mysel! 'But I am a cooard, Kirsty! 'Ye are not, Francie. I wunna believe't though yersel say 't! It's naething but a dist o' styte and nonsense 'at's won in throu the cracks ye got i' yer heid, fechtin. Ye was aye a daft kin' o' a cratur, Francie!
William Keyse, expectant mother of a potential Briton, sat behind them, and as she patched the shirts that had been taken out of pawn and whether they're let out on hire to parties wanting such things or whether the mice eat 'oles in 'em, who can say? but the styte in which they come back from Them Plyces is something chronic! she sang, sometimes "Come, Buy My Coloured 'Erring," which they learned you along of the Tonic Sofa at the Board School in Kentish Town; and sometimes "The Land Where Dreams Come True!"
"What put sic buff an' styte i' yer heid, sir?" rejoined Meg; defiant of the hints her husband sought to convey to her. "There's mony ane wad hae been ready to gang, only wha sud gang but him 'at gaed wi' him an' 's lordship frae the first?" "And who was that?" asked Mr Crathie. "Ow! wha but Blue Peter?" answered Meg.
He did not fall into any depths of self-blame, for, whatever its kind, his love was of quality pure and good. The only bitterness his offer bore was its justification of Agnes's departure. But Grizzie saw no justification of it anywhere. "What I'm to du wantin' her, I div not ken. NO BECOMIN', quo' he, FOR A LASS LIKE HER TO BIDE WI' A BACHELOR LIKE HIMSEL'! "H'ard ever onybody sic styte!
Do ye think I dinna ken a fiddle whan I see ane, wi' its guts ootside o' 'ts wame, an' the thoomacks to screw them up wi' an' gar't skirl? 'Buff an' styte yersel'! cried Shargar, in indignation, from the bed. 'Gie's a haud o' 't. Robert handed him the case. Shargar undid the hooks in a moment, and revealed the creature lying in its shell like a boiled bivalve.
Rather a dreadful face it was, with wide-open, staring eyes protruding through a stiffening mask of gore. The teeth grinned, revealed by the livid, drawn-back lips, and how she knew him again in such a orful styte she couldn't tell you not if you offered her pounds and pounds to say
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