He […] pulled out one of the apples and rolled it under the fence to the horse. The horse grabbled it up with quivering lips.

... an' t'hell witcher ponies I says

To contemplate these icy, inevitable vistas of cosmic time is in a certain sense already to go beyond geotrauma.

She doth tell me where to borrow / Comfort in the mid’ſt of ſorrow; Makes the deſolateſt place / To her preſence be a grace; / And the blackeſt diſcontents / Be her faireſt ornaments.