- ..- ... .—. . .. … .- .. —- . -.. . .—. – .. . — -.— … – .. -.. .. … — —- ... . … . .. -. —. —- .. —- … .—- . -.. – .— …. .. .. …. .. … .. .. . . – . .. – …. .. —- ..- —. …. … ….
The hinge on the door creaked with old age. The bunch of grapes was pressed into wine.
It matters not if he reads these words or those. The ramp led up to the wide highway.
Three for a dime, the young peddler cried. No doubt about the way the wind blows.