[…] now all of a sudden she thinks she's some kind of Britney Spears or Jennifer Lopez.

Quarter of seven. Fifteen minutes to go.

I have already argued that printed texts, no matter how widely disseminated, are never entirely sunderable from their origins.

Here's looking at you, said Yates, strolling into the barn, taking a telescopic metal cup from his pocket, and clinking it into receptive shape by a jerk of the hand. He offered the now elongated cup to Hiram, who declined any such modern improvement. Help yourself in that thing. The jug's good enough for me.