Radulph could not help but notice how the breasts of a lady flugelhornist trembled whenever she blew into her instrument.

But this is not the best:—look, pr'ythee, Charmian, / How this Herculean Roman does become / The carriage of his chafe.

“Come off it, skipper. There's nobody to miss us if this scow comes a gutser. We're expendable, even more so than the average Rim Runner officer. And that's saying plenty.”

The inclusive verge Of golden metal that must round my brow.