I'm all out, like an empty gasoline tin.

I want to see something clean and sweet." Martin had made up his mind.

Look at that poor little bruised soul, as much in need of water as those sad flowers in the milk bottle.
"Tootles," he said, "pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag, and be ready for me in the morning." "What d'yer mean, boy ?" "What I say.

At eleven o'clock to-morrow--to-day, I'll have a car here and drive you away to woods and birds and all clean things.

I'll give you a holiday in a big cathedral, and you shall lie and listen to God's own choir." "Go on--ye're pullin' me leg!" She waved her hand to stop him.