yass, dass all right: but how we know you titch English? Nobody can’t tell you titchin’ him right or no.

[…] so in asthma, where there is no expuition, or the expuition does not appear till the paroxysm is subsiding, we ought, I think, in fair reason, rather to acknowledge or inacquaintance with the actual cause than to place our faith in one that has so little to support it.

While Mike was still in the hospital, a man named Olin—the manager of the goddamned hotel, if you please—came and asked Sam Farrell if he could listen to that tape. Farrell said no, he couldn't; what Olin could do was take himself on out of the agent's office at a rapid hike and thank God all the way back to the fleabag where he worked that Mike Enslin had decided not to sue either the hotel or Olin for negligence.

… to be sold at auction for sixty gold francs.