The third, which was as homely as its name, and which she reserved for scouring the country and such like rough usage in quite private rural life, was her Scrub.

Barry . . . stood, during this tirade, half stupefied with rage, and half frightened, at the open attack made on him. . . . However, he couldn't pull in his horns now, and he was obliged, in self-defence, to brazen it out.

Dime-sized bites rarely choke you to death. … […] If a waitress ever Heimlichs you out of heaven, tip her with exuberance.

If you plant sixteen tomato plants, you will have tomatoes coming out of your ears by July!