His young man's limbs, sleek in their dark male pride, seemed to disdain the covering offered them by the brief shorts and striped jersey. His body might have been naked, like his full, muscled throat, which rose, round and proud as the male organ of a flower, from the neck of his sweater.

Ye know, doan't ye, what it feels like when ye burn yer hand in takin' a cake out of the oven or wi'a match when ye're lightin' one of they godless cigarettes? Ay. It stings wi' a fearful pain, doan't it? And ye run away to clap a bit o' butter on it to take the pain away. Ah, but' (an impressive pause) 'there'll be no butter in hell!

So many large words, as though syllables will hide the truth.

Something nasty in the woodshed.

Green fingers was the country name for time, patience and love working together.

Miller had gone off on some affairs of his own, as he always did when the routine at Bryant’s was interrupted, for he was a selfish dog who hated any break in his habits. His departure seemed the last straw