Oh, the amount of innuendo that could be found about anything was always frightening. That was probably the First Law of Innuendo. Just the number of dough-rising metaphors was disturbing.

She'd fallen at a somewhat awkward angle for her legs, which were bent a bit painfully and still hobbled together at the ankle, and his weight on top of her all at once had knocked her wind out a bit, but - "I think I'll live ter sail th' seas again," she said, kissed him, and arched her back a bit to let him move his trapped hand.