"Why do you shout so? You`ll frighten them!" said Boris. "I did not expect you today," he added. "I only sent you the note yesterday by Bolkonskian adjutant of Kutuzov`s, who`s a friend of mine. I did not think he would get it to you so quickly.... Well, how are you? Been under fire already?" asked Boris.

‘Vincent,’ said Mrs Crummles, ‘what is the hour?’

"Good Father Aymer," said the Saxon, "be it known to you, I care not for those over-sea refinements, without which I can well enough take my pleasure in the woods. I can wind my horn, though I call not the blast either a 'recheate' or a 'morte'---I can cheer my dogs on the prey, and I can flay and quarter the animal when it is brought down, without using the newfangled jargon of 'curee, arbor, nombles', and all the babble of the fabulous Sir Tristrem."*