The latter is a phagedenic ulcer of the bark, very destructive to young apple-trees […] .

Vice City is . . . a steaming Cuban sandwich of sultry Latin sirens, drug deals gone bad and seedy mobsters with big metal briefcases full of small unmarked bills.

The length of the stoppages could not well be reduced; indeed, they are already too short if we are to believe the tale now current of a wandering Jew sort of passenger—a lady of advanced years who can only alight from a train backwards. Every time she begins to get out a porter rushes up crying Hurry up, ma'am; train's going!—and pushes her in again!

The drummer on the last cut of their CD is not identified.