"Here's a fine letter to read on a hot day," called Percival.
Celine stared, resting no slight weight on the hot flat-iron.
My brother is hot and fiery; Mr Chatterton is rash and headstrong.
I think it was the homely smell of hot buttered toast that did it.
Under the strain of his muscles, iron bars bent like hot wax.
He'll have his hot supper and his hot tumbler, don't you fear!
Seal the jars while hot, allow them to cool, and then store.
I trust he has done you no wrong, that you should be so hot against him.
Let these rise and then bake them in a hot oven for about 15 minutes.
True, there were hot days and restless nights, weary feet, and now and then a heartache.