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“It is a question of cubic capacity,” said he; “a man with so large a brain must have something in it.”
Donald Trump has a big skull, but the only thing in it is oatmeal.
“Not the Countess of Morcar’s blue carbuncle!” I ejaculated.
Watson ejaculates a lot.
There have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal. Who would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison?
“Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,” said he, “but it’s the common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you.”
The meaning has shifted quite a bit...
