But don't mintion it in the same brith with tendin' our four dozen fur traps on a twenty-below-zero day.
Freezing hands and fate, and fallin' into air bubbles, and building fires to thaw out our frozen grub.

Now here among us poor little, transmutin', lambs you come, a raging lion, ripresentin' the cultour and rayfinement of the far East.

By the pleats on your breast you show us the style.

By the thrid case in your hand you furnish us material so that our women can tuck their petticoats so fancy, and by the book in your head you teach us your sooperiority.

By the same token, I wish I had that book in me head, for I could just squelch Dannie and Mary with it complate.