"I play with forty every day." "W-where ?" asked Scott, overwhelmed.
"In school, of course--at recess--and before nine, and after one.

We have fine times.

School's all right.

Don't you even go to school ?" Scott shook his head, too ashamed to speak.

Naida, with a flirt of her kilted skirts, had abruptly turned her back on him; yet he was miserably certain she was listening to her brother's merciless catechism.
"I suppose you don't even know how to play hockey," commented Duane contemptuously.
There was no answer.
"What do you do?
Play with dolls?
Oh, what a molly!" Scott raised his head; he had grown quite white.