"But it doesn’t make any difference!” she cried. Couldn’t they understand that?
- The cradle rocked to and fro under the waves, and in the sing-sang song of the sea, she slept.
- Fickle Fiebleman fiddle-farted too long and frittered the day away.
- What is so jejune as a day in Rare? Rare is that new resort here in Gorleston Beach devoted to the wee ones.
- Who are you? Who are you? Who are you? screamed the voice in his head.
- Percival didn’t care the new headmistress had a MBA and a PhD and a bunch of other letters after her name, or the second headmaster raised himself up from Tower Hamlets, or Nurse Hornsby spent two years in Ghana fighting some disease or other. Percival planned to eat them all.
- “Go ahead,” the babysitter said. “Play in the street.”
- Sandra gave Susan the cookie recipe all right, and even though Susan followed it to the letter (including the 1/4 plus 1/8 teaspoon salt) she could never get it to come out like Sandra’s, and it was only after Sandra died and Susan inherited her recipe file did she understand why. Bitch left out the cinnamon.
- “Halt!” please keep running please keep running please keep running.
- Glad we are for the Father, and glad we are for thee, glad we are for The Big Fellow, and an Ireland that’s free.