the mellifluous pleonast had done oiling his paradox with fresh polysyllables

Turner looked assured, picking out his men at the lineouts, while Redpath was seeing plenty of the ball and also looked the part as the Scots probed for opening.

“Uhh, Georgetown is not around the corner, but I feel cupcakes do be bussin.” “Yoooo, that's what I'm saying. Especially that maple creme and bacon one […] ”

A clown, Grantley Dixon, a perfervid parrot, with his militant slogans and second-hand attitudes: like all coffee-house radicals a screaming snob at heart.