A good demand obtains for rosin, only limited by the spareful granting of licences.

He sounds intimidating over the phone, but if you meet him face to face you will find he is a friendly enough fellow.

The anecdotes they coin, whether in half-hearted travelogues or in cynical Benetton catalogues, invoke that developmental schema to recapitulate the West's erstwhile commodity enchantment through its tricklike discovery in the past-as-present eyes of the enchanted Other.

It’s beautiful, but never naïvely so; the pastoral moments were offset by barrelhouse intrusions.