Barney Bill was very old and crooked and dried up; what beautiful lady would waste her blandishments on him?
Even the low-born lasses with whom they at times consorted had scarce an eye for Barney Bill.

The grapes were sour.

Paul smiled indulgently on the little foible of his friend.
They jogged along the highroad on this blazing and dusty day.

Their bower of wicker chairs crackled in the heat.

It was too hot for sustained conversation.