He Did Each Single Thing As If

But Rosa Soon Made The Discovery That Miss Twinkleton Didn't Read Fairly. She Cut The Love-scenes, Interpolated Passages In Praise Of Female Celibacy, And Was Guilty Of Other Glaring Pious Frauds.

I Have A Heart To Be Stabbed In Or Shot In, I Have No Doubt, And, Of Course, If It Ceased To Beat, I Would Cease To Be. But You Know What I Mean. I Have No Softness There, No—sympathy—sentiment—nonsense.

The Clouds Were Flying Fast, The Wind Was Coming Up In Gusts, Banging Some Neighboring Shutters That Had Broken Loose, Twirling The Rusty Chimney-cowls And Weathercocks, And Rushing Round And Round A Confined Adjacent Churchyard As If It Had A Mind To Blow The Dead Citizens Out Of Their Graves. The Low Thunder, Muttering In All Quarters Of The Sky At Once, Seemed To Threaten Vengeance For This Attempted Desecration, And To Mutter, "let Them Rest! Let Them Rest!

The Sergeant Was Describing A Military Life. It Was All Drinking, He Said, Except That There Were Frequent Intervals Of Eating And Love Making.

Change Begets Change. Nothing Propagates So Fast.