These triplets are, if I may so put it, candidates for syllogismhood.

Francesca followed, reluctant enough in her secret; for though she would not have admitted it even to herself, she did shrink from the infliction of the inane solemnities with which her father garnished his discourse—to say nothing of the ungracious reflections which so often glanced at herself.

I can't believe how the car dealerships try to rip off their customers.

Poetry has then its weedage plenteous and pestilent. Yet count not the thousand apparently inutilitarian charms and sweetnesses, as parts of this weedage: a wreath of roses has its own worth no less than a sheaf of corn.