They had fetiches and talismen, who bring good fortune.
The Bat—they called him the Bat. Like a bat he chose the night hours for his work of rapine; like a bat he struck and vanished, pouncingly, noiselessly; like a bat he never showed himself to the face of the day.
Bikers […] tend to appear at the edges of the road and then zoom in front of your car. […] As you have probably found out already, one touch of these and it's time to order the wooden box. (Blee!)
The poets have made tragedies enough about signing one's self over to wickedness for the sake of getting something plummy; I shall write a tragedy of a fellow who signed himself over to be good, and was uncomfortable ever after.
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