I saw the huge rocking-stone, that had been violently depressed by him as he sprang, fly back when relieved of his weight till, for the first time during all these centuries, it got beyond its balance, fell with a most awful crash right into the rocky chamber which had once served the philosopher Noot for a hermitage, and, I have no doubt, for ever sealed the passage that leads to the Place of Life with some hundreds of tons of rock.

A little slooplike vessel, long, low, lateen-rigged, had put out from a masked cove. No threat. Messenger boat, said Fat Poppo […]

He was a spit-fire! The typical little boy just on the verge of spilling out the dozens of words he'd accumulated, a cascade of sounds as he chattered from dawn to dusk.

The thirſt of raigne and ſweetnes of a crowne, […] / Moou’d me to menage armes againſt thy ſtate.