The big machine reared and skidded sideways in a cloud of dust, then resumed its progress at a somewhat reduced rate of speed, wobbling violently.
I took part in a conversation the other day, concerning a recent writer of lyrics, a man of subtle mind, whose head appeared to be a music-box of delicate tunes and rhythms, and whose skill, and command of language, we could not sufficiently praise. I nibbled at it to be polite.