“Pete Briggs pats his big pink pigs all day,
(Don’t ask me why, I cannot say)
Then Pete puts his patted pigs aways
in his Pete Briggs’ Pink Pigs Big Pigs Pigpen.”
“It was August, and the summer streets of the city had been crowded all day with tourists who could not speak English, or who could speak English but could not read a mar, or who could do neither, nor even recognize a castle when they saw one.”