You'll have me on your hands much longer than you think or want.

What time is it ?" Anderson patted her head reflectively as he solemnly drew his huge silver time-piece from an unlocated pocket.

He held it out into the bright moonlight.
"Geminy crickets!" he exclaimed.

"It's forty-nine minutes to twelve!" Anderson Crow's policy was to always look at things through the small end of the telescope.
The slow, hot summer wore away, and to Rosalie it was the longest that she ever had experienced.

She was tired of the ceaseless twaddle of Tinkletown, its flow of "missions," "sociables," "buggy-horses," "George Rawlin's new dress-suit," "harvesting," and "politics"-- for even the children talked politics.