The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. “Yeah, everybody knows him Mom. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. " Her ear caught much of the lesson, and many things she stored away; but often what she heard was sound without sense. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled.
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