Well, she didn't strike me like a person that could make much headway in literature.

Her story was well enough, but it hadn't much sand in it; kind of-well, academic, you know.
I told her so, and she understood, and cried a little; but she did the best she could with the thing, and I took it and syndicated it.

She kind of stuck in my mind, and the first time I went to see the Dryfooses they were stopping at a sort of family hotel then till they could find a house--" Fulkerson broke off altogether, and said, "I don't know as I know just how the Dryfooses struck you, Mrs.March ?" "Can't you imagine ?" she answered, with a kindly, smile.
"Yes; but I don't believe I could guess how they would have struck you last summer when I first saw them.

My! oh my! there was the native earth for you.

Mely is a pretty wild colt now, but you ought to have seen her before she was broken to harness.
"And Christine?
Ever see that black leopard they got up there in the Central Park?
That was Christine.