His large mouth sloshed around, trying to get teethly purchase into the grease-filled slab as two pieces of fried onion with a dab of ketchup hit his shirt and cascaded downwards, landing around his pants' zipper.

The leachings were performed in a controlled atmosphere chamber in four different steps […]

They don't dast.

As a Londoner and regular user since the 1980s, I remember how it was an awful, mismatched place cobbled together from various styles of architecture and which was anything but passenger friendly.