puff

out of puff

puff of smoke

to every puff of wind a slave

When I went to bed that night I found that I could not get to sleep. At five o'clock I got up and took a hot bath. I climbed back into bed and lighted one of the Chinese-made "Great Wall" cigars my hosts had thoughtfully provided, and sat puffing on the cigar and making notes about the events of the momentous week.

[…] though I care not one straw for the personal puffs of which I myself am so often the subject […]

a sleeve with a puff at the shoulder

cream puff

Bozzacchio, an acorne. Also a puffe or mushrump full of dust.

Is nothing to be said in praise of the "Emporiums" and "Repositories" and "Divans," which formerly were mere insignificant tailors', toymen's, and tobacconists' shops? Is the transition from the barber's pole to the revolving bust of the perruquier, nothing? — the leap from the bare counter-traversed shop to the carpeted and mirrored saloon of trade, nothing? Are they not, one and all, practical puffs, intended to invest commerce with elegance, and to throw a halo round extravagance?

Did you ever in your puff see such a perfect perisher?