She planted me with a smacker so scorchy it singed my socks.

They describe the trances of the balian or seer of the village they studied most exhaustively as beginning with such awayness, then passing into a period when "the seer exhibits emotions never otherwise expressed except on the stage …

The smell of rotting food repulsed me.

Some men they [make] love for what they can get, / And 'tis certain there's many a Lubbard; / Will sigh and will pant, seeming ready to faint, / And all for the love of the cubbard, brave boys! / And all [for the love of the Cup-board].