See him explode with an apocalyptic gush of petroleous nigger blood and black bile and teeth and mucous and sweat and saliva and shredded gristle.

I mean three years ago in this very supplement of your newspaper some fool actually wrote an article called ‘How to Ruin Your Child’s Christmas’. That kind of stuff gets back to me and it hurts. I mean, we can do without that sort of Scroogesque rubbish.

In spite of the seconal he was eaten up by his nerves. His face was covered with sweat.

He appointed […] the courses of the priests.