The village butcher is chapel.

I didn't know what a mitochondrion was until I looked it up in a dictionary.

The little bag, with its shiny, silvery jaws open, lay on her lap. He could see her powder-puff, her rouge stick, a bundle of letters, a phial of tiny black pills like seeds, a broken cigarette, a mirror, white ivory tablets with lists on them that had been heavily scored through. He thought: “In Egypt she would be buried with those things.”

Jul 22, 2014, “Do and don'ts of thinspiration”, in (Please provide the book title or journal name):