table talk

Surely all this graphic talk of gastrointestinal distress is making you queasy.

Old Mrs. Wurzel and the buxom but not too well-favoured heiress of the house of Grains were at the head of the table.

A small book, bound in full purple calf, lay half hidden in a nest of fine tissue paper on the dressing-table.

There were at least a dozen ladies seated round the big table at the Parsonage.

And is this a mere fantastic talk, or is this a thing that could be done and that ought to be done?

Our talk ranged from the Panhandle to the Canada line, while our horses jogged steadily southward.