Please scale that fish for dinner.

But presently, catching hold of the mizen shrouds, he swings himself to the deck, and in an even, unexhilarated voice, saying, Dinner, Mr. Starbuck, disappears into the cabin.

I like not the humour of lying.

He had dipped ungenerously into a generous mother’s purse; basely and recklessly spilt her little cruse.