I notice my husband and Ken are not talking to each other, most unusual in such a yakky family.

The toiler toils. The wordster words. And you say all your prayers in words. Toil is always alive. But words are dead.

The general-in-chief of pyromachy was holding in readiness a detail outfitted with supplies of tinder and torches for emergency incendiary action.

He might dispense favours and disfavours according to his own election.