A new trunk, I am sorry to say, lacks a historical look. An old one is more gratifying, like old brocade or an old ring.
Au revoir, my Ada!
South-bound train, 4th—I was lavish of my art of “bothering.”
My poor uncle—my eternally “poor uncle” was the victim. I wanted some diversion at any price.
His face scowled as I bored him with my successive questions.
I thought his irritated face fascinating.
When I presented another question, he was droning a genteel snore.
I twisted an edge of a newspaper into a roll. I thrust it into his nose.
There was no doubt about his starting.
“Bikkurishita!” he exclaimed.