Crusts

She cut the crusts off her sandwich.

Since our mother died we have had no happiness; our step-mother beats us every day, and if we come near her she kicks us away with her foot. Our meals are the hard crusts of bread that are left over; and the little dog under the table is better off, for she often throws it a nice bit. May Heaven pity us. If our mother only knew!

"I've only got a small brown loaf, I'm afraid, or large white. The Russian ryebread is nice." "No, my wife says it gets in her teeth, and the kids just leave the crusts everywhere."

Since we don't blink when we sleep, we find secretions called sleep crusts in the morning.