You’ve been caught in The Honey Trap, said the poutsome models awkwardly, assuming, for no discernible reason, a Charlie’s Angels-style action pose.

You wouldn't have me a dowd, Olaf? said she, demurely. I have to be neat and tidy, you know. You wouldn't have me going about in a continuous state of unbuttonedness and black bombazine like Mrs. Rabbet, would you?

Venezuela al Día, a thrice-monthly tabloid ...

A bird of our own country called a willow-wren (Motacilla) runs up the stem of the crown-imperial (Frittillaria coronalis) and sips the pendulous drops within its petals.