The St. Pat's party was an excuse for the men in the neighborhood to get hooched-up.

The more I laughed at such theories, the more these stubborn friends asseverated them; adding that even without the heritage of legend the recent reports were too clear, consistent, detailed, and sanely prosaic in manner of telling, to be completely ignored.

Bluebeat and ska from a boombox on the pavement. A suedehead dancing a delirious, inebriated moonstomp with a girl who looked like a solicitor's apprentice.

The captain's anchor is pretty nigh atrip; I shouldn't wonder if he croaked afore morning.