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Updated: May 9, 2025
I faintly remember a pledge to secrecy sworn by the moon and the seven wandering stars but nevertheless I shall divulge the plot. It was a burlesque tragedy in rhyme. Some eighteen years ago, it seems, Brabantio, the noble Venetian Senator, kept this same dog-wagon he and his beautiful daughter Desdemona. Here came Othello, Iago and Cassio of the famous class of umpty-ump.
If I was setting on an iceberg in latitude umpty-ump north of Evanston these days, they couldn't pry me off it with a crowbar. Not they." "He had to come back," explained Mr. Hennessy. "He got as far as he cud, an' thin he was foorced be th' inclimincy iv th' weather to return to his home in Feechoold, Norway." "To where?" Mr. Dooley asked contemptuously. "To Foocheeld, Norway," said Mr.
One week passed, and then another, and at last he came back, wet and dripping from his tussle with the river, and cursing the very name of detectives. "W'y, shucks!" he grumbled. "I bummed around in town there for two weeks, hatin' myself and makin' faces at a passel of ornery sheepmen, and what do I git for my trouble? 'Dear Mister Creede, your letter of umpty-ump received.
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