"Fine-toothed" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... of making these vegetable ivory buttons is as follows:—After boys have cracked the shells, the kernels are taken by men standing at benches in which small fine-toothed saws are revolving. Only a slight pressure of the nut against the saw is required before it is divided into equal parts. If necessary, the operation is repeated. Providing, however, that the pieces of the nut are of proper dimensions, they are ...
— The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. VIII, No. 354, October 9, 1886 • Various
... first and may chance on the second. This is just routine, Miss Copley. When I know a crook has been in a certain spot, I go over the place with a fine-tooth comb. You'd be surprised to know the number of microscopic bits of evidence a man can leave behind him in spite ...
— The Monk of Hambleton • Armstrong Livingston
... gave the old man a hard time, all right. They went through his house with a fine-toothed comb. They dug up his yard, his cellar, and generally put him through it, figuring he was a natural to hang a murder rap on. But there was just nothing to be found, and they couldn't manufacture evidence when there was nothing to show that McIlvaine ever knew that Richardson ...
— McIlvaine's Star • August Derleth
... Rimrock, "but guess again. I'm still general manager, unless the Directors have fired me; and believe me, I'm going to take charge. In the next few days I'm going to go through this office with a six-shooter and a fine-tooth comb and if I find a single dollar paid out to Ike Bray some ex-manager is liable to get shot. You understand that, now don't you, Mr. Jepson? All right then; we can go ahead. Now will you kindly ...
— Rimrock Jones • Dane Coolidge
... much for me, so I slipped off again to be alone, and this time headed for the forest. Warm patches of sunlight, like gold, brightened the ground; dark patches of sky, like ocean blue, gleamed between the treetops. Hardly a rustle of wind in the fine-toothed green branches disturbed the quiet. When I got fully out of sight of camp, I started to run as if I were a wild Indian. My running had no aim; just sheer mad joy of the grand old forest, the smell of pine, the wild silence and beauty loosed the spirit in me so it had to run, and I ran with it ...
— The Last of the Plainsmen • Zane Grey |
