Yet he must not sit there, either, with the cigar between his teeth, unlighted.
"Crooked as a dog's hind legs," snarled Lewis, biting viciously at his cigar.
He flicked the ashes from his cigar, nursing his knee with the other hand.
You kin imagine how that other feller's cigar tasted when he lighted it ag'in.
But this time the cigar and the punch seemed to fail of their effect.
On the other hand, no one else in Radville would have thrown away the cigar.
Half strangled, he plucked the cigar from his mouth and stamped on it.
Then he took a cigar from his case, and held it to the flame.
He handed William a cigar and bit the end off another himself.
Most men have seen my portrait at the cigar shop round the corner.