‘Good evening, good evening,’ Father Rank called. His stride lengthened and he caught a foot in his soutane and stumbled as he went by. ‘A storm’s coming up,’ he said. ‘Got to hurry,’ and his ‘ho, ho, ho’ diminished mournfully along the railway track, bringing no comfort to anyone.

And in the morn and liquid dew of youth Contagious blastments are most imminent.

The farmer would accuse his son of idleness; the son would retort that his father was a drunken gawm.

Orientations of megaripple and sandwave crestline appear to be controlled by the mean current direction.