She poked him in the center of his chest with two fingers to punctuate her words. “You are an unfeeling”—poke —“traitorous”—poke—“mistrusting”—poke—“rude”—poke —“booby!” Every poke turned him mortal, but Lord Maccon didn’t seem to mind it in the least. Instead he grabbed the hand that poked him and brought it to his lips. “You put it very well, my love.

I have never really encountered anybody that was rude to me. Well, not to my face anyway.

These Macedonians are a rude and clownish people; they call a spade a spade.

I don’t trust anyone who’s nice to me, but rude to a waiter because they would treat me the same if I were in that position.