Pinkie is Sweetie.” “So, Sweetie is Pinkie and Pinkie is Sweetie. I’m still lost.
Pinkie is my little orange tree. And Sweetie is my nickname for him.” “So, you have a little orange tree named Pinkie.
He’s incredible. He talks to me, turns into a horse, comes on adventures with us. With Buck Jones, Tom Mix... Fred Thompson...
Do you like Ken Maynard?(It was odd leaving off the ‘sir’, but I’d made up my mind.)
He made a gesture as if to say he didn’t know anything about cowboys in westerns.
The other day Fred Thompson introduced me to him. I really like the leather hat he wears. But I don’t think he knows how to laugh.
Well, let’s get a move on, because the world in that little head of yours is confusing me. What’s the other thing?
The other thing’s even more difficult. But since I brought up the ‘sir’ and you didn’t get upset... I don’t like your name very much.
It’s not that I don’t like it, but among friends it’s a bit...“Goodness me, what now?” “Do you really think I can call you Valadares?”
He thought about it a little and smiled. “No, it doesn’t sound right.” “I don’t like Manuel either.”
You’ve no idea how angry I get when Father tells Portuguese jokes and says, ‘Manuel this, Manuel that’.
You can tell that the son of a gun’s never had a Portuguese friend...“What did you just say?”
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