Beside him two cases of Canadian Club (if you were satisfied with the evidence of your eyes) sat serene in round-shouldered bottles--conventional, secure in its reputation.

Cognac and Garnkirk, a case for each, rode in tall, slim bottles with no shoulders at all.

Plumper than they, Three Star Hennessey sat smugly waiting until the joke was turned upon its victim.
A tempting load it was, to men of certain minds and morals.

Casey grinned sardonically when he thought of it.
Casey drove deep into the grove of sycamores and made camp there, away from the chattering picnic parties at the cement tables.

By Mack Nolan's advice he was adopting a slightly different policy.