- Thus on some silver swan, or tim’rous hare, Jove’s bird comes sousing down from upper air; Her crooked talons truss the fearful prey: Then out of sight she soars, and wings her way.
- Not with more ease the falcon, from above, Trusses in middle air the trembling dove, Then plumes the prey, in her strong pounces bound: The feathers, foul with blood, come tumbling to the ground.
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- The same trusses carry the weight of the roof and the ceiling.
- Cordelia turns to the back pages of the catalogue, where the pictures are in gray and black and there are crutches and trusses and prosthetic devices.
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Margaret Atwood -- Cat’s Eye