drop like a hot potato

There was deep brown flesh, and bronze flesh, and pallid white flesh, and flesh turned red from the hot sun.

In the drawing-room things went on much as they always do in country drawing-rooms in the hot weather.

Before he could finish the sentence the Hole-keeper said snappishly, "Well, drop out again—quick!"

Now-a-days it is the bankrupt who flouts, and his too confiding creditors who are jeered and laughed at.

The Potato is planted very sparingly south of Piedmont, and not so commonly there as in Savoy.

“You appear to feel it so,” rejoined Mr. Pickwick, smiling at the clerk, who was literally red-hot.