Last one out of the sacred ginmill please turn off the lights.

Two blocks down Broadway there was a ginmill off the corner of Forty-fifth.

The prognosis is favorable, young man, barring strokes of lightning or further trips to Zack's ginmill.

As a matter of fact, I'd stopped for a quick bracer in a Third Avenue ginmill on my way uptown.

But in the afternoon it was just another ginmill, empty, and its only resemblance to Mandrake's-by-nightfall was the price schedule.

Nose the color of a drunken knight's after thirty or so years of tilting at ginmills, and puffed to a grotesque size.