She must have nattered on for half an hour. Everyone else was gone when I finally got a word in edgewise and escaped.

Warwick passed through one of the wide brick arches and traversed the building with a leisurely step.

Of all the queer collections of humans outside of a crazy asylum, it seemed to me this sanitarium was the cup winner. […] When you're well enough off so's you don't have to fret about anything but your heft or your diseases you begin to get queer, I suppose.

This week’s impossible-to-pronounce word: Catania. Granted, it’s a little trickier than Palermo, but there was no excusing the verbal butchery that ensued. —blog.