The spunk with his piddle comes bubbling.
I was on my seat and she stood opposite.
Though never even as a child thoughtlessly cruel, nay, delighting to rescue drowning insects and watch their recovery, there was a disagreeable silent remembrance of her having strangled her sister's canary-bird in a final fit of exasperation at its shrill singing which had again and again jarringly interrupted her own... the thought of that infelonious murder had always made her wince.
That name wouldn't draw flies to a turdpile.
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