I'd as soon think of telling the Pope of Rome to empty a pail of swill as I would him.
Jones, annoyed at the swill tossed about, had turned from him.
One day I cooked a squash, putting the parings in a swill pail.
The bread I was able to eat, but could not contrive to drink the swill.
“Finish your swill, and then we can talk,” said Rawley, carelessly.
They water their ...