I say, though--it's no use." "Isn't it ?" said I."Are you sure ?" "Pretty confoundedly certain.

The British lion's getting there, in great shape--the brute.

All the widow's arranging.

With the widow it's 'Mr.
Dod, you will take care of _me_, won't you ?' or 'Come now, Mr.Dod, and tell me all about buffalo shooting on your native prairies'-- and Mr.Dod is a rattled jay.

There's something about the mandate of a middle-aged British female." "I should think there was!" I said.
"Then Maffy, you see, walks in.