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Updated: June 8, 2025
Mademoiselle Cormon, like all persons nervously agitated by a fixed idea, became hard to please, and nagging, less by nature than from the need of employing her activity. Having no husband or children to occupy her, she fell back on petty details. She talked for hours about mere nothings, on a dozen napkins marked "Z," placed in the closet before the "O's."
I exclaimed in many O's as I paused by the window, but I felt my cheeks flush at the idea of having him buy any of the lovely flowers for me. "Come inside," he said. "What do you like?" "I love them all," I told him as we stood before the array of blossoms. "I think I like the yellow rosebuds best, though. We have some at home on the farm but they bloom only in June."
Of all these varied expressions, that of commingled surprise and indignation was the most amusing, because these emotions had the effect of not only opening its eyes and its mouth to the form of three excessively round O's, but also raised a small tuft of hair just above its forehead into a bristling position, and threw its brow into an innumerable series of wrinkles.
"Then, th' baillies looked reawnd 'em as sly as a meawse, When they see'd at o'th goods had bin taen eawt o' th' heawse; Says tone chap to tother, 'O's gone, thae may see, Says aw, 'Lads, ne'er fret, for yo're welcome to me! Then they made no moor do, But nipt up wi' owd stoo, An' we both letten thwack upo' th' flags.
Eh, sirce, if you had only seen oor street! The beach ootby at the Saut Pan, whaur there's a free coup for rubbitch, was naething till't! It juist mindit me o' the picture, in oor big Bible, o' Jerusalem when the fowk cam' back frae Babylon till't it was juist a' lyin' a cairn o' lowse steens an' half bricks. There's neen o's 'ill forget Friday nicht in a hurry, or I'm muckle misteen.
"No, my Lard; me only go by de smell him bery rifferous, bery, my Lard;" and Joe sniffed till the steam from the vegetables rushed up his nostrils. "I say," R called out to Joe, as he was disappearing over the threshold in search of the Bunseppalouse, "you black pudding, you; what do you mean by my Lard? can't you pronounce your O's? what do you with your A's, when you meet them?"
"Katie," he said, "we cannot talk in the middle of the street with all these people staring at us. So come with " "Oh, lor', Marse Ishmael," interrupted Katie, "don't you mind dese poor trash! Dey can't speak one word o' good Christian talk, nor likewise understand a Christian no mor'n dumb brutes. Dey is no better nor barbariums, wid dere o's and ro's ebery odder word. Don't mind dem herrin's."
The only thing he seemed to care for was the tenth line, "A dolce morte sotto dolce inganno," which you may render, if you like, "To a sweet death under so sweet deceit"; but he said there were too many "o's" in it.
Spell it with two o's to make it look more natural, and ensure correct pronunciation Wheal Dooem nothing could be finer, quite candid and above-board no one can call it a swindle."
There was much discontent in the Irish regiments which were dispersed through the Netherlands and along the frontiers of Germany and Italy. Even the Whigs allowed that, for once, the O's and Macs were in the right, and asked triumphantly whether a prince who had broken his word to his devoted servants could be expected to keep it to his foes?
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