J.D. Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye" Chapters 1-14 72 words

The whole team ostracized me the whole way back on the train.

I only had on my reversible and no gloves or anything.

"I'm still recuperating," I told her.

I was pretty sadistic with him quite often.

I just got very cool and nonchalant.

You couldn't rile him too easily.

The band was putrid.

I didn't want a bunch of stupid rubbernecks looking at me when I was all gory.

He always walked around in his bare torso because he thought he had a damn good build.

I don't want you to get the idea she was a goddam icicle or something, just because we never necked or horsed around much.

She inhaled and all, but she didn't wolf the smoke down, the way most women around her age do.

I'm traveling incognito," I said.

I mean it's pretty complicated."

It partly scared me and it partly fascinated me.

They're quite touchy about anything like that, especially my father.

"You chose to write about them for the optional essay question.

Hardly anybody laughed out loud, and old Ossenburger made out like he didn't even hear it, but old Thurmer, the headmaster, was sitting right next to him on the rostrum and all, and you could tell he heard it.

Boy, he could really be aggravating sometimes.

I'm a pacifist, if you want to know the truth.

I like to be somewhere at least where you can see a few girls around once in a while, even if they're only scratching their arms or blowing their noses or even just giggling or something.

My mother saw them in the village a lot, because Jane used to drive to market with her mother in this LaSalle convertible they had.

"Do you have any particular qualms about leaving Pencey?"

"Liberate yourself from my viselike grip."

I said it suave as hell.

It was always just a little bit open, especially when she got in her golf stance, or when she was reading a book.

He came in griping about how cold it was out.

Which is really ironic.

He probably was scared he'd fractured my skull or something when I hit the floor.

She used to be a burlesque stripper or something.

I'm quite illiterate, but I read a lot.

It stinks, if you analyze it.

He started chuckling like a madman.

"You're trying to chisel me."

I live in New York, and I was thinking about the lagoon in Central Park, down near Central Park South.

I left all the foils and equipment and stuff on the goddam subway.

"She's waiting in the Annex."

Anyway, finally I had to come right out and tell him that I had to write a composition for Stradlater, and that he had to clear the hell out, so I could concentrate.

He started talking in this very monotonous voice, and picking at all his pimples.

I didn't want to go home or anything till they got it and thoroughly digested it and all.

I pictured myself coming out of the goddam bathroom, dressed and all, with my automatic in my pocket, and staggering around a little bit.

Boy, did I feel rotten.

It makes me so depressed I go crazy.

I started imitating one of those guys in the movies.

It has a very good academic rating, Pencey.

I ignored him.

He always shaved himself twice, to look gorgeous.

It was a very crude thing to do, in chapel and all, but it was also quite amusing.

The trouble was, I knew that guy Stradlater's technique.

"Have you yourself communicated with them?"

He made a pot of dough in the undertaking business after he got out of Pencey.

Stradlater kept whistling 'Song of India" while he shaved.

The way I met her, this Doberman pinscher she had used to come over and relieve himself on our lawn, and my mother got very irritated about it.

I told him how I would've done exactly the same thing if I'd been in his place, and how most people didn't appreciate how tough it is being a teacher.

I pulled the peak around to the back again, and relaxed.

Boy, I really fouled that up.

I'm just going through a phase right now.

Then she introduced me to the Navy guy.

All he did was lift the Atlantic Monthly off his lap and try to chuck it on the bed, next to me.

He's a very sensitive boy.

Because he's so darn shy and modest and all.

It had these very funny, crazy plays in it, and then it had this one story about a traffic cop that falls in love with this very cute girl that's always speeding.

I left all the foils and equipment and stuff on the goddam subway.

"I don't even think the sonuvabitch is intelligent.

I could feel a terrific lecture coming on.

If he was so goddam stupid not to realize it was Saturday night and everybody was out or asleep or home for the week end, I wasn't going to break my neck telling him.

She hung up my coat in the hall closet, and I sort of brushed my hair back with my hand.

I sat down on the one right next to him and started turning the cold water on and off--this nervous habit I have.

"Do you blame me for flunking you, boy?" he said.

He was a very peculiar guy.