If a sarbut suddenly went bent, then it was only to be expected. He walked across to a desk set beside the doorway of the crime squad office, leafed through the pages of the duty book and absently wrote in Shakespeare's name and rank […]

All day, therefore, the Blues and the Buffs have been locked in contretemps, with Brown and Cameron striving to outfrown each other in statesmanship

— Sorry, chicken's off today.

Your sacred Majesty, he has the dropsy;— We shall find pints of hydatids in’s liver, He has not half an inch of wholesome fat Upon his carious ribs