Gimlet

The box was close on every side, with a little door for me to go in and out, and a few gimlet holes to let in air.

I would find by the edge of that water / The collar-bone of a hare / Worn thin by the lapping of water, / And pierce it through with a gimlet and stare [...]

Yeah, a piece of advice — once you’re back in circulation, don’t keep topping off a lady’s vodka gimlet when she’s not looking.

We sat in a corner of the bar at Victor's and drank gimlets. “They don't know how to make them here,” he said. “What they call a gimlet is just some lime or lemon juice and gin with a dash of sugar and bitters. A real gimlet is half gin and half Rose's Lime Juice and nothing else. It beats martinis hollow.”

By seven, dinner was under way, and a bottle of vodka gimlets and one of martinis were in the freezer, chilling.

Then there was an awful silence. The lady gimleted us again one by one with her blue eyes.