table-hop

“I think the types of stories we do are very similar to what happened with hip-hop,” says Jones.

So here I am in my requisite Lululemon pants, grunting along to an old hip-hop song at a most ungodly hour.

This was a guy from the hip-hop generation and with a perspective that was inextricably linked to that generation.

He gets up and goes over to their table and introduces himself, and he says, ‘Hello, I’m Oliver Reed.

I asked her how her trainers, born and raised in Iran, have learned how to teach hip-hop.

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.

Miss Smith immediately rises from the table, puts up her dear little mouth to her papa to be kissed.

He sighed as he laid the papers on the table; for he thought the task would be a harder one than even his own immolation.