Can I fix the table with ferns and wild roses?

You are mistaken, my wife is Fernanda.

“Excuse me”. “Are you Fernando Lopez?”. “Yes, I am”.

The clouds, heavy with hail and snow-flakes, hung low in the sky, and the raven stood on the ferns crying, "Croak, croak." It made one shiver with cold to look at him.

The Friday afternoons, they don't have recitations. Miss Stacy takes them all to the woods for a 'field' day and they study ferns and flowers and birds.

They say that ferns can have flowers.

On that very night when the fern blooms — I’m just retelling what has been compiled in fairy tales by local people — the mermaids, wood and house goblins, werewolves, nixes, and different kinds of ghosts and sorcerers gathered together.

The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upward through deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on either side, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy hart’s-tongue ferns.

The sun was beginning to sink behind the stables of Mapleton, and the long, sloping plain in front of us was tinged with gold, deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded ferns and brambles caught the evening light.

Fernando, we're racing Massa behind until the end." "Ha! I love your sense of humour." "Well, we can have some fun trying, anyway."