My conscience has been seared with a hot iron--a cold one, I mean.

The effects are just the same." At the supper-room door they were met by Dr.Sommers, with a world of comical trouble in his face, and he drew Madge aside.
"What's a man to do ?" he began.

"Here's our choir-leader sick, and the rest won't chirp without him.

I can't sing any more than I can dance.
You can--sing, I mean--both, for that matter.

I'd give the best cast of a fly I ever had to take you out in a reel.