Pore mother was Frit to death o' he.
"The Keeper of the Door"
Ethel M. Dell
Guess I don't think I did, fur the ship rolled as I fired, an' the bullet must hev gone over his woolly head, an' he let go from sheer Frit!
"The Island Treasure"
John Conroy Hutcheson
Don't ye kinder think ye Frit me, bo!
"The Island Treasure"
John Conroy Hutcheson