Go, tenderness of years; take this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him festinately hither.

There's a hat-check girl at that cafe — a droopy, fat little blonde — who's trying to beat my time with him. And he's falling for it, the poor baby!

And with ever more roads, houses, and retail parks in development, a statutory protected belt of chalklands, forests and valleys is exactly what the asphalted south-east needs.

These strange openings and closings and knockings were warnings and reminders from the spirits who attend the dying.