Noting the rate at which she shoals her water - […]
Long Rob began to glint his grey eyes at her, he'd have to think of getting married himself, he said, fine it must be to sleep with a slim bit the like of herself those coldrife winter nights.
That he was the greatest 100m runner of his generation was incontestable.
“Why,” he protested, “it’s just a castor bean!” “It came up about a year ago,” I said. “Planted itself right where I wanted a green something. I kept it from freezing last winter. I put boxes around it to break the wind, and on cold nights I covered it with gunnysacks. Every morning I pour a coffeepotful of water on it.”
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