The coachman hangin' onto the reins and swearin' at the top of his lungs all the time.

'Bije Ellis, who lives up that way, says the road smells like a match factory even yet--so much brimstone in the air.

The girl got home somehow or other, they tell me.

I cal'late her fine duds got their never-get-over.

Nellie says the hat she was wearin' come from Paris, or some such foreign place.