He almost reached the timberline – but there the weather changed, a damp fog enveloped him, and he spent a couple of hours shivering all alone in a smelly shippon, waiting for the whirling mists to uncover the sun once more.
Una nox dormienda means that one final night that has to be slept through after a few score years of pain and its palliations, of pleasure and disgust after pleasure.
Former New Yorkers are our signature human resource. Without them, we’d be a Trump-less backwater, an oceanfront Bradenton, a place where full-contact shopping, recreational medical treatment and Liza Minnelli tickets would be unattainable fantasies.
I don't pretend to give your la'ship advice, whereof your la'ship knows much better than I can pretend to, being but a servant; but, ifackins! no father in England should marry me against my consent.
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