The Only Way To Do It Is

I Had Refused Emerson's Well-meant Offers Of Assistance, Knowing His Efforts Would Be Confined To Moving The Furniture To The Wrong Places And Demanding How Much Longer The Process Would Take.

There Was No Warning, Not Even A Knock. The Door Flew Open, And He Forgot His Present Aches And Pains In Anticipation Of What Lay In Store. The Figure That Stood In The Door Was Not That Of An Enemy. It Was Worse. It Was His Mother.

I Do Not Scruple To Employ Mendacity And A Fictitious Appearance Of Female Incompetence When The Occasion Demands It.

The Approval Of A Cat Cannot But Flatter The Recipient.

A Man Asking For Help Ought To At Least Give Directions.