a high-pitched scream.
“Why don’t you say some yourself?” the child asked, with wondering eyes. “I disremember them,” he answered.
Prithee, gentle officer, / Handle me gingerly, or I fall to pieces, / Before I can plead mine.
“... One of those chaps over there said someone feagues his horse. What the hell’s ‘feague’?” / O’Reilly’s sides heaved. “Feague? You’d know it as a different expression, but it’s a trick unscrupulous horse dealers use to make a horse look better than it is. You can judge a horse’s spirit by the way it carries its tail.” / “That’s what he said.” / “So,” said O’Reilly, “just before the buyer comes to look at the beast, the dealer sticks a clove of ginger up its rectum. Feagues the poor creature.” / The thought made Barry wince.
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