And there I strove, and there I clove through the drift of icy streams; / And there I fought, and there I sought for the pay-streak of my dreams. // So twenty years, with their hopes and fears and smiles and tears and such, / Went by and left me long bereft of hope of the Midas touch; […]

He faced punishment for creating the fenced enclosure in a public park.

This box contained rat poison, now it contains a dead rat.

Over there—by the rock, Steele muttered, with his brush between his teeth, squeezing out raw sienna, and keeping his eyes fixed on Betty Flanders's back.