"About three. . . . Djuna, the royal oofs, if you please."
"Oofs?" said Djuna suspiciously. "What's them?"
"What are those, my lad; this asociation with the youth of 87th Street is contaminating you. Oofs, Djuna, is a sort of bastardized French for eggs. I could stomach a right good egg at the moment. Turn 'em over and slap 'em in the behind; you know - the usual style."
(from The Chinese Orange Mystery, by Ellery Queen)
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