Insert the plug, press the switch, and Bob's your uncle.

Regardless of style, there is no doubt that Palaiologan hagiography was written by urban authors addressing urban audiences whether in Constantinople or Thessalonike.

The other end of the bar was full of flits. They weren't too flitty-looking—I mean they didn't have their hair too long or anything—but you could tell they were flits anyway.

When Tomorrow Comes was probably some sort of weepy love story which always got him laughing like a drain, often leading to his physical removal from the one and nines.