When, at the head-centre, the lady demonstrator, armed with a Brobdingnagian whalebone needle, threaded with a bright red cord, executed herringboned fantasias on a canvas frame resembling a violin stand, it all looked easy enough.

He studied the map in preparation for the hike.

He would always sniff for the telltale odor of kerosene, which the residents might have used for starting fires in their stoves — Edwin was death against it because of the hazard to the whole village.

I unbuttoned my shirt to take it off.