Alternative form: Balleek
[to Kramer] Are you dense? I said I wanted you to drop dead. Now... drop dead! [slams the door in Kramer's face]
She boasts to Bentley that the Prince of Wales admires her books for the “fearless courage” of her opinions. “He said, ‘There is no namby-pamby nonsense about you – you write with a man’s pen, and I should think you would fight your enemies like a man!’ These words delighted me, for to be ‘namby-pamby’ would be a horror to me,” she writes.
Up jumped Jonathan, his eyes wolfish and his lips white with rage. But ‘there was an oath in Heaven,’ and he did not forget it. So he proceeded to swallow his alphabetical pills—an antidote to wrath, not mentioned in the ‘Regimen Salernitanum,’ nor recognized by the British College. ‘A, B, C,—you’ve tored my jacket—D, E, F,—you’ve spilt my ’lasses—G, H, I, J, K—you’re a ’tarnal rascal—L, M, N, O, P, Q,—I’ll larn you better manners, you scamp, you!—R, S, T, U, V,—I’ll spile your picter, you old wall-eye!—W, X, Y, Z, ampersand—now I’ll pound your insides out o’ you, you darned nigger!’ And with that, Jonathan, whose passion had been mounting alphabetically throughout all his father’s prescription of vowels and consonants, caught the young scape-grace, and, throwing him down, was proceeding to work off each of the deacon’s twenty-six anti-irascible pills in the shape of a dozen hearty fisticuffs, which might, perhaps, have brought the poor fellow to the omega of his days had not the timely approach of a passenger interrupted the manipulations. So much for rules to control the passions.
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