There was nothing of that luxuriance of blossom which had hitherto clothed the wood, for there were no hawthorns; but the bog-myrtle imparted its tender fragrance, and the caressing honeysuckle wound round many an ancient trunk, odours exhaling from every fairy-like tube—fit trumpets for the heralds of Titania.

The twins were now playing in the most approved brotherly fashion till at last Master Jacky who was really as bold as brass there was no getting behind that deliberately kicked the ball as hard as ever he could down towards the seaweedy rocks.

Giant parrots nibbled seed from the children's fingertips and my sister peeled a couple of satsumas for the lemurs.

Much of the drama of “Frost/Nixon” rests on the idea that Nixon was a consummate stonewaller and Mr. Frost a glitz-hound and possible nincompoop, incapable of the obduracy required for such a reportorial effort.