Ever since he started going to the rock club, he's been given the label waster.

I know that in some quarters I am regarded as a kind of wet blanket, a Henny Penny predicting doom and gloom.

The window is handed in [to a wicker carriage]. Her feet are wound around with comforters against a draft... Her ample bag of knitting is safe aboard... Proot! The donkey starts.

On the right hand, as you enter the port, there is an elegant fanal, or lighthouse, kept in good repair: but in all the charts of this coast which I have seen, this lanthorn is laid down to the westward of the harbour; […]