She was an accomplished ecdysiast, her favourite plisky being a vaticination of complete undress which eventually turned out to be a Banbury story of a cock and a bull.
The unreconstructed armatoloi became miscible and coterminous with the rest of the forces.
In the language of nightmares the thematic and the rhematic are quite miscible: it is difficult to say whether the esoterica of the mind are the topic or the focus of any given dream.
This Throttlebottom uttered such bromidic commonplaces as “it was a watershed moment” in rather annoying uptalk.
I'd as lief subsist on the orts which fell from his table as give him the satisfaction of seeing his name amongst the hydronyms of this our proud land, for I've never met a man so caustic and disagreeable—perhaps we could rename one of the rivers of hell after him instead!
Her comportment was gay as she wandered through the greenwood, for the issue of the family's solvency had been seriously ameliorated by news of the death of a distant uncle.
She withdrew furtively behind the gnarled oak, resisting an appetenceto stay in the open and challenge his vaunting attitude—better to hide herself now and devise a more cunning way of bringing him down in the future.
As he whirled the shillelagh above his head, his deeply green, almost smaragdine eyes flashed with an effulgence signalling a severe appetence for revenge.
This community was ruthlessly analphabetic, on the axiom that if the practice of writing were taken up then the powers of memory would be diminished: they decried all attempts by others to learn their language, preferring to code-switch into the local lingua franca when communicating with outsiders.
The fact that the author had the superbity to dibble his prose with such bold gadzookery leaves me quite justified in banishing his work to Cimmerian obscurity.
She tried for hours to besmirch the new president's name by connecting it to the devil's number through arithmomancy but to no avail; he was an uliginous character all around, slipping out of the grasp of her satire like a time-traveller through wormholes in the timescape.
He emerged from the whole affair damaged but heart-whole, and set out on a journey of irenic purification, his lodestar now the goal of isolating his thetan from further bodily concerns.
How's this for a minuscule foray into the construction of garden path sentences? “A duck hunted for food in France is called a canard.”
“We were hoping it was just a blip; that your uh… sphere of workplace capabilities would have adolesced further by now,” he smiled, then added, in slightly more ominous newspeak: “I suppose we could always finetune your responsibilities…”
Her reputation for always being ready to allocute on intersectionality quickly ramified into her being labelled with the abhorrent portmanteau “feminazi”.
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