Somebody was using the pencil.
Why is it no one sent me yet one perfect limousine, do you suppose? Ah no, it's always just my luck to get one perfect rose.
I wish, I wish I were a poisonous bacterium.
Money cannot buy health, but I'd settle for a diamond-studded wheelchair.
...as for helping me in the outside world, the Convent taught me only that if you spit on a pencil eraser, it will erase ink.
She was pleased to have him come and never sorry to see him go.