The triangle folded two of its lines flat along the third, making of itself a line. The triangle eating harparium slithered by sniffing left and right before disappearing over the hill. The triangle reshaped, quivering at its narrow escape.
The Guided Missile Entourage arrived early. They glided in arrow formation along the lane, filtering off one at a time into the huts. On emerging, they flashed the designated signal that all was well, a nod with a finger to the nose. Following the pledge to all things possible, they stood at attention, waiting for the guided missile to appear at the barbed wire entrance into the lane. When after what seemed to be a silence of eternity the guided missile hove into view, the Entourage bowed their heads as one, eyes shut tight. The missile rumbled in quiver before erupting on a shaft of flame into the sky and gone. The Entourage leaked in slow dispersal like syrup, duty fulfilled.
Anita and Jean had quite the busy morning. Yes, they did all of those things.
Nittering with tongue to teeth, Duxbury approached the stallion. The stallion eyed Duxbury. Both Duxbury’s and the stallion’s nostrils valved in concert. The stallion hoofed and Duxbury booted at the earth. Duxbury and the stallion exchanged whinnies. The mesa was dry. Baring teeth, the stallion lunged. Baring teeth, Duxbury snarled. Duxbury’s snarl brought the stallion to an abrupt halt. The stallion eyed Duxbury. Duxbury eyed the stallion. The stage to Laramie passed by. Duxbury and the stallion stood unmoved.
As he hobbled along, he made many waste motions, like those of a partially destroyed insect.
This nifty sentence may be found in Miss Lonelyhearts.