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I point up and look at Carmine, and he throws his head back and shouts, “Yite!”

“Yite,” he says softly as the city recedes into the distance.

"I skated yite down on mine nose."

“Me do dit ’ackburries yite now,” reiterated Ralph.

“Of pain—of excruciating pain: it would wring the heart of a stone to hear him, and, though there is never a spot of blood nor a sign of violence, he declares that some one comes in the night and sticks something into his neck—something which, in his baby way, he likens to ‘a long, long needle that goes yite froo my neck and sets uvver needles prickin’ and prickin’ all down my arm.’”