The baskers lined the rocks, soaking up the afternoon sun after the storm.

A solitary basker glided near the surface, filtering plankton through its enormous jaw.

The old cat, a true basker, stretched luxuriously in the afternoon sun.

Baskerville quietly arranged for the restoration of the crumbling manor that had belonged to his family for generations.

The Baskervillian atmosphere of the old manor seemed to cling to every shadow.

Baskervill agreed to testify at the hearing despite his fear of public speaking.

The old legend warned travelers of a Baskervillean hound that prowled the moors at night, its eyes burning like embers.