He said that it was illegal in those days to stand up in a beer parlour with a drink in your hand.

She was only six months old but her face was astonishingly beautiful.

He sold all his Coke merchandise and made a tidy profit, and now he has a signed medical prescription for Coca-Cola, framed and hanging on his bedroom wall.

There were times when she drove all night rather than fly because the cost of airfare was prohibitive.

He spent it all on drink and riotous living and died bankrupt.

One of the monsters saw her and chased her into the forest.

He was haunted by time, as if he wrote in a room full of clocks and calendars.

She struggled to find emotional equilibrium well into adulthood.

He was a good capitalist.

But never, ever, had she confided her past to anyone.

The worms go in, the worms go out, he thought to himself as he whistled.

The longer she sat there, the more tempting it was for her torso to fall forward.

What he wouldn't give for a good mainframe.

She said the typeface on the documents did not match either of the two typewriters that she had used.

On another occasion he felt sorry for a newspaper seller and bought every one of his papers.

From her experiences, she became increasingly opposed to male-female relationships.