Minor quarrel

Usage examples of spat.

No longer protected by anthropocentric gods and goddesses, reason gone flat in its happy capacity to explain away the Mystery, not yet delivered into the hands of the superconsciouswe stare out blankly into that dark and gloomy night, which will very shortly swallow us up as surely as it once spat us forth.

They are dying out day by day in such manner that I fear greatly to see these illustrious fragments of the ancient breviary spat upon, staled upon, set at naught, dishonoured, and blamed, the which I should be loath to see, since I have and bear great respect for the refuse of our Gallic antiquities.

The bullocky spat and waved back, staring openly at Garnet, who had clasped her hands in her lap.

Castro unbuckled himself, leaned over, and spat on Manso again, square in the face.

The next Mong, who had been waiting patiently, squatting with his hands bound behind him, spat in contempt and moved, into place at the edge of the ditch.

Fergus Appleton is a fine-looking guy of maybe forty, with iron-gray hair that makes him appear very romantic, and he is always well dressed in spats and one thing and another, and he smokes cigarettes in a holder nearly a foot long, and wears a watch on one wrist and a slave bracelet on the other, and a big ring on each hand, and sometimes a monocle in one eye, although Ambrose Hammer claims that this is strictly the old ackamarackuss.

She spat at the van, watched the spittle hit pavement, freeze into a lump of pearlized glue chip.

The pale phosphorescence of the carvings gleaming on his naked limbs, Tsabrak spat venom onto his blade.

He chewed the crayon, made a face and spat the bits on Pickwick, who jumped up in fright and ran away to hide.

Twist this, turn that, pull the trigger and a bolt of polychromatic fire spat from the rifles muzzle, vaporizing a fist-sized hole in the metal wall.

Tshamarra sprang to help the procurer as he winced, swayed, and spat blood.

Gippius spat out a line of Pushkin to demonstrate the false spondee in iambic verse, his outworn prosodic terms failed to arouse the nascent poet in his class.

As it hit, it made a sound of a pitch never before heard on earth: a deep, sustained, continuing spat of chemical bonds by the quadrillion snapping in metal.

The quietness spread, from gray eyes that held no hatred for those who spat at her face or tasted her blood, from a voice that could scream in pain yet mouth no curses after, that spoke, between screams, in a steady confirmation of all good.

The racks holding the barrels swayed slightly as I landed and pushed off again, little glowing spits and spats of thick reactive paint spraying behind me as lead chewed the air.