Detective LaRue showed me his gratitude by paying me off on the Firestone layaway.

My shoes are beginning to rub.

Summer’s affirmation of Harvest’s evident unmiserliness—“I credit thee, and thinke thou wert belide” (890)—is an attempt to pacify a provoked husbandman, who is obviously unused to courtly manners and has threatened to make use of his scythe.

So, after a spell, he decided to make the best of it and shoved us into the front parlor.[…]It looked like a tomb and smelt pretty nigh as musty and dead-and-gone.