They kick me in the face, beat me with the baton, whip me in me balls, beat me with a cat o’ nine like them name buckra massa […]

The space between each two spokes is filled in with very elaborate diaperings, in which red and blue alternately prevail […]

The wild winds croon of Thanksgivingtide

They were flapping their ears, moving their great stamp-like feet up and down, grinding their teeth, slobbering with their mouths, making borborygmic gurgles and rumbles in their dinosaurian-like bodies, or throwing up their trunks or their tails.