With a frown, Rye studies my face. He disengages my arm in order to take my hand in both of his and squeeze it tight. Why don't you go back and confront him, sweetheart? I'll go with you, by God. I don't like the idea of him bullying you, and he needs to hear that.

Homer often speaks of epea pteroenta, winged words: in traditional interpretations, this metaphor stood for the swift and lofty birdlike flight of language, particularly poetic language.

Mr. Tuppy, who long has wanted to do something to live down his namesake’s inactivtion, and he was put into an arm[-]chair, where he looked like a feather boa one minute and a costermongress’ discarded hat the next.

an impeccably poised young woman who had strode out in an evening gown