He took a seat and poured himself a big glass of Liebfraumilch instead.

In a magnificent beau geste, the destroyer, hopelessly trapped, turned as if to flee, threw out a smoke screen, and when the [enemy ship] charged into it, rammed her at flank speed […]

Then there was thousands of the bliddy critturs left in the rabbuts' buries.

Yet this sign of growth and hope is framed by a triangle of spindly wood that subtly evokes torturously stretched arms, as on the Cross.