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"Are these Wiggy Devar's credentials? By gad, that shabby little wretch is flying high when she tries to bag my son for her pretty protégée!" "Don't you think it would be wiser, sir, if you allowed me to tell you exactly what has taken place since we met last?" "What good purpose will that serve?
There was certainly more curl in her hair than I could have wished; and Saccharissa's wiggy looks waged an irrepressible conflict with the unguents which strove to reduce their crispness. Indeed, why should I not be candid? Mellasys per se was a pill, Mrs. Mellasys was a dose, and Saccharissa a bolus, to one of my refined and sensitive taste. But the sugar coated them.
So when it had rolled a long, long time, it met a pig. "Good-day, pancake," said the pig. "The same to you, Piggy Wiggy," said the pancake, and without a word more it began to roll and roll for dear life. "Nay, nay," said the pig, "you needn't be in such a hurry; we two can go side by side through the wood; they say it is not too safe in there."
"Oh, it don't matter what a brat of a boy says or does, anyway," said Lottie. "But I think Ellen is disgracing the family. Everybody in the hotel is laughing at that wiggy old Mrs. Bittridge, with her wobbly eyes, and they can see that he's just as green!
Rossini, in thanking him, wrote, "Bien que vos raisins soient superbes, je n'aime pas mon vin en pillules." This Baron Rothschild read as an invitation to send him some of his celebrated Chateau-Lafitte, which he proceeded to do, for "the joke of it," he remarked. "It is so amusing to tell the story afterward." Rossini does not dye his hair, but wears the most wiggy of wigs.
Oh! yes, quite grown up, fit to be married only a year younger than I am. And there's our old apothecary in the country has taken such a fancy to her! But he's too old and wiggy but it would make a sort of lady of her, and her mother will have it so but she sha'n't I've no notion of compulsion.
Oh, why didn't I tell Wiggy to bring me some blueing from the store? Oh, dear!" "Ha! Perhaps these will do to make blue water," said the bunny uncle, holding out the bunch of violets. "Would you like to help Nurse Jane?" he asked the flowers. "Oh, yes, very much!" cried the violets.
But "Wiggy" Devar did not care now whether or not the story told by Cynthia was true. With reaction from the nightmare that had possessed her since ten o'clock came a sharp appreciation of the extraordinarily favorable turn taken by events so far as she was concerned.
"I hope you don't mean you have finished living with me, Nurse Jane? For I would be very lonesome if you were to go away." "Oh, don't worry, I'll not leave you, Wiggy," she said. "What I meant was that I had finished making the new dress for Susie Littletail, the rabbit girl." "Good!" cried the bunny uncle. "A new dress for my little niece Susie. That's fine!
"Why!" cried the muskrat lady. "You haven't the measles at all, Wiggy! It's just sticky, red berries in your fur, just as they are in the ducks' feathers. You're all right! Get up and have a good time!" And Uncle Wiggily did, after Nurse Jane had combed the red, sticky burr-berries out of his fur.
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