“Yes, sir, if that was the language of love, I'll eat my hat,” said the blood relation, alluding, I took it, to the beastly straw contraption in which she does her gardening, concerning which I can only say that it is almost as foul as Uncle Tom's Sherlock Holmes deerstalker, which has frightened more crows than any other lid in Worcestershire.

There are also the formal researchings into the past by Herod's doctors/councillors.

Global governance would be essential in tackling mankind's common challenges but it is hard to achieve among extremely different kinds of actors.

Don't give them your ends. You jack that shit!