The smell of rotting food repulsed me.

She planted me with a smacker so scorchy it singed my socks.

Some men they [make] love for what they can get, / And 'tis certain there's many a Lubbard; / Will sigh and will pant, seeming ready to faint, / And all for the love of the cubbard, brave boys! / And all [for the love of the Cup-board].

They describe the trances of the balian or seer of the village they studied most exhaustively as beginning with such awayness, then passing into a period when "the seer exhibits emotions never otherwise expressed except on the stage …