Here's looking at you, said Yates, strolling into the barn, taking a telescopic metal cup from his pocket, and clinking it into receptive shape by a jerk of the hand. He offered the now elongated cup to Hiram, who declined any such modern improvement. Help yourself in that thing. The jug's good enough for me.

Quarter of seven. Fifteen minutes to go.

I have already argued that printed texts, no matter how widely disseminated, are never entirely sunderable from their origins.

[…] now all of a sudden she thinks she's some kind of Britney Spears or Jennifer Lopez.