"That Miss Clyde probably has a very becoming bathing suit."
"I was thinking I heard one of the children calling," said Phyllis. "But it wasn't, it was only a singing in my nose."
"What a funny nose," said Martin.
"Don't you know how something seems to get caught in your nostril and makes a kind of singing when you breathe?"
Ben had had time to make a careful choice of the least damning of his meditations. "I was thinking that the crickets don't really sound like an orchestra. They're more like adding machines."
"Why, that's true," George exclaimed. "They have just that even, monotonous, cranking sound. Adding up some impossible and monstrous total. Counting the stars, maybe."
"I hope you won't think my thought is rude," said Joyce. "It struck me that if it weren't for Mr. Brook's cigar I'd be convinced this is all a dream.—I don't mean it isn't a nice cigar, just that it smells so worldly."
"Well, our secret thoughts all seem fairly innocent. But we haven't heard yours yet, Mr. Martin."
"I don't think this is a very interesting game," said Martin.
