Then there is a shuffling sound, and the quiet slide of a spyhole cover.

The second was some kind of professional student: his like were to be found in the patiently seated waiting lines of the career bureaus, always ready to file for some obscure and pointless occupation—numismatist, dressage instructor, Neurospora geneticist, epitaphologist, worm rancher.

Jasmine shot us a dirty look and we faced away, trying to swallow our mirth, which as we all know just makes it mirthier.

To see so much difference betwixt words and deeds, so many parasangs betwixt tongue and heart […].