I used to be afraid to go to bed at night — the name was one-eyed, one-eared flying purple people-eater.

God ſir be a man, / Thinke euery bearded fellow, that's but yoak'd, / May draw with you, […]

Marta's gander was a magnificent snow-white bird: the object of terror to foxes, children and dogs. She had reared him as a gosling; and whenever he approached, he would let fly a low contented burble and sidle his neck around her thighs.

It was a full load, a disparate group that he had already typed and cross-matched with their potential for future crime.