Come, Aunt Flo. I'll show you where we go blueberrying. Last year we got almost a bushel of berries, and Papa says they should be ripe now.

He was very insulting. Finally Jack called him out and shut him up.

The hooded Lin and Jonathan — yakless now — were leading the way. Up ahead was another gorge with its own small, rather unreliable-looking wooden bridge. Two yeti were carrying the unconscious O'Connell on a stretcher Lin had made […]

one fell swoop