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He murmured, “Thank God,” as if it came from his heart.
He murmured, “Thank God,” as if it came from his heart.
He started the way an avalanche ends.
He started the way an avalanche ends.
And then the dawn! Mr. Wolfe, how I love the dawn!” “You won’t see the dawn.”
it
I said offensively,
It stuck out all over him, one of those born-to-command guys. I never invite them to parties.
you might have thought that when a floriculturist wipes his brow it is to remove not sweat but his excess of brotherly love; which
the look in her eyes going over me, made me feel like a potato she was peeling. She
Wolfe sounded patient with distress.
May Mr. Goodwin drive it? He ran mine into a tree.”
I am careful with my opinions, sir; they are my bread and butter and the main source of my self-esteem.”
“Do I release cats in public?”
She wasn’t much good as a liar; she didn’t know how to relax for it.
luck’s clock was slow.
“Do you read pohtry?”
Of course this Caesar’s bein’ burnt instead of buried, but there’s a connection if you can see it.”
“Well,” she said, with her eyes shining. “You cad.”
Victor Hugo wrote a whole book to prove that a lie can be sublime.
I would myself be reluctant to trust him with a fact of any delicacy.
thinking it might be my last appearance among the devout,
a bull I would have sworn was Hickory Caesar Grindon;
I grinned, and wished Basil was there to tell me which spoon the bean was under.
the prohibition of business while eating,
“Your friend Dave might do for a liar. He reads poetry.”
Wolfe, his eyes closed, was looking at nothing.
