It makes wonderful sentences that you can repeat in the City and are good enough for Punch. “I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Have you much ability?” asked Ann Veronica. Like carpenter, like chips. She whipped round suddenly, and discovered the woman wedged into the corner by the window, keeping out of the way. “Number 13, please, cabman. "Halloa!" cried Jack, looking round, and trying to fix his inebriate gaze upon the speaker,—"who's that?" "Your mother," replied Mrs. He saw Enschede, making the empty sea, alone, alone, forever alone. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. It was open.
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