I stopped at the traffic lights.

Either they floure, or they apple or els be ready to bring forth fruit.

“You speak of terms,” she said. “These are mine. Stand aside and let me pass.” […] “So you accede to my terms?” she said. “I am to pass out?”

At a centre-point of a conurbation containing all but a fraction of mankind, and this at twice or three times mankind’s present numbers, the pressure of human activity on the unimaginable Ecumenopolitan centre-point would be as enormous as the water-pressure of the Ocean on the Ocean’s bottom at the points at which the Ocean is at its deepest.