Howsomever, I woke him at cockleert the next morning.

[…] I would sit impatiently thinking with what an unusual amount of noise the oars worked in the thowels.

After waving the candle to and fro several times, investigatingly, the door was closed.

[…] a job that dealt with an endless parade of shitskin losers—hunting them down, befriending them in order to get their confessions, then tossing them into County […]