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Sandy got himsel' squeezed up atween the bed an' the wa'; an' at ilky hooch an whirr 'at the wind gae he wheenged an' groaned like's he was terriple ill wi' his inside; an' aye he was sayin', "I've been a lazy gaen-aboot vegabon', an' ill-hertit vague. O dear, Bawbie, what'll we do?" I cam' to mysel' efter a whilie, an' raise an' tried the gas, an' it lichtit a' richt.
He lookit like some berfit tinkler wife that had been too, an' had t'a'in, ower the heid, intil a barrel o' yellow oker; an' stickin' on his weyst there was ane o' my winda tickets "Just in To-Day." "O, Bawbie!" he wheenged, "gae up the stair an' see if the ruif's aye on. I think somebody's been hoddin' dianamite in oor garret."
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