"If the spring were a little further advanced you'd see my wings sprouting.

I enjoy this.
I haven't had such fun since my last football match.

I see the finish of that jail guard.

Come on." Within an hour the doctor and Mrs.French drove up to the jail.
There, at the bleak north door, swept by the chill March wind, and away from the genial light of the shining sun, they found Paulina and her children, a shivering, timid, shrinking group, looking pathetically strange and forlorn in their quaint Galician garb.
The pathos of the picture appeared to strike both the doctor and his friend at the same time.
"Brute!" said the doctor, "it's some beast of an understrapper.
He might have let them in, anyway.

I'll see the head turnkey." "Isn't it terribly sad ?" replied Mrs.French.
The doctor rang the bell at the jail door, prepared for battle.
"I want to see Mr.Cowan." The guard glanced past the doctor, saw the shrinking group behind him and gruffly announced, "This is not the hour for visitors." "I want to see Mr.Cowan," repeated the doctor slowly, looking the guard steadily in the eye.