The woman is walking.

If an idea flopped, a subordinate would be bowler-hatted out of the gang; if the idea was successful, then it was Ted Donnell done it.

Depending on whom you ask, Antony Flew is either a true convert whose lifelong intellectual searchings finally brought him to God or a senescent scholar possibly being exploited by his associates.

She slides his bronze buckety looking thing over, turns it upside down, and plops her feet on it.