[…] a quiet evening at home, alone with a friend and a pipe or two, and a humble potation of British spirits […]

One of our printeresses has got the dead wood on any jail, if she should ever be so unfortunate as to ever be locked up in one.

It were a delicate stratagem to shoe A troop of horse with felt.

I dreamt of my dead husband, who asked me for a cozonac, adding, 'It's important that you prepare it yourself.' I had this dream three nights in a row until I finally baked it.