В. В. Ганненко

Not to swear is as easy as to swear, if you make a custom of it. A

There were three of us in the smoke-room of the ship – me, my very good friend, and, in the opposite corner, a shy man, the editor, as we knew out later, of a New York Sunday paper.

Well, when they had all eaten, they began playing games with the bones, tossing them one to another. One little leg-bone fell close to the closet door, and the farmer was so afraid that the pixies should come there and find him in their search for the bone, that he put out his hand and picked it up. Then he saw the king stand on the table and say, ‘Gather the bones!’