He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. Dese ere not schouts, as you faind, but jonkers on a vrolyk; and if dey'd chanshed to keel de vrow Sheppard's pet lamb, dey'd have done her a servish, by shaving it from dat unpleasant complaint, de hempen fever, with which its laatter days are threatened, and of which its poor vader died. “Never—but, by Jove, you had a narrow escape,” Ennison exclaimed.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 01-10-2024 06:26:24