It sounded, as this young lady thought it over, very much like puss-in-the-corner, and she could only wonder if the distribution of parties would lead to a rushing to and fro and a changing of places.
She, nothing quaint / Nor 'sdeignfull of so homely fashion, / Sith brought she was now to so hard constraint, / Sate downe upon the dusty ground anon […].
He says he’s got nothing against the Rose d’Or, it’s just that since he did the Himalayas he finds the Alps a bit too small and there aren’t enough yaks. He says it is a well-known fact that ice-caves are one of the most yakless environments on earth.
'OhmyGod', I said, matching his peeved tone and doing the same geebag accent I'd used to get Naylor out of his hedge.
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