The cider-making of New England is far more picturesque; the great heap of golden or rosy apples under the trees, and the cider-mill worked by a circumgiratory horse, and all agush with sweet juice.

‘Perhaps you would like to tell me what kept you?’ ‘Not really, sir.’ Something of a gasp ran around the form-room. This was going it a bit strong, even for Healey. ‘I beg your pardon?’

The defendant was released on his own recognizance.

You once said that the ones and zeros in the world's computers were demons that could trick the human race into losing all its history.