Rolliver's inn, the single alehouse at this end of the long and broken village, could only boast of an off-license; … [T]hirsty strangers … wished they could have a restful seat inside. Thus the strangers. But there were also local customers who felt the same wish; and where there's a will there's a way. In a large bedroom upstairs, the window of which was thickly curtained with a great woollen shawl lately discarded by the landlady Mrs. Rolliver, were gathered on this evening nearly a dozen persons, all seeking vinous bliss; …

How comes all this, if there be not something puissant in whaling?

Mulate's did not overspice the already spicy crawfish, and the accompanying sauce of onions and peppers was among the best I've tasted in years.

In the production of the ladino the white element has almost always been represented by the father […]