Wamble

Fancy her white hands getting redder every day, and her tongue losing its pretty up-country curl in talking, and her bounding walk becoming the regular Hintock shail and wamble!

Sicily thought of sand flies and wondered how big they were, what color. […] Organs Sicily had not dared contemplate stomped and wambled and scuffed inside of her.

His leathery shoes exuded some anachronistic wonder, with damp shimmer of copper buckles which changed color with remedy, easily in the light, and he wambled this way and that to the kitchen and wondered to himself about the many lives[…]

She may shail, but she'll never wamble.