Peter dug at his books all the harder.

The restaurant ordered ketchup in 50-gallon drums.

Your child comes into the world with the symptoms of death; the facies Hippocratica forms the character of its physiognomy, and the prognostic of its fate.

But I was saying, there’s some siller in the spleuchan that’s like the Captain’s ain, for we’ve aye counted it such, baith Ailie and me.