Leland licked his perpetually dry lips and tasted dusty grit.

There was a brushing-off party in the air lock, but, as they climbed back to the crew's quarters Dard could still taste grit in his mouth and hear it crunch under his feet.

He could taste red grit on his tongue, bitter and salty and sulphuric-the taste of Martian fear, of Martian death-or just of his own blood; he couldn't say.

Gilligan licked his lips and tasted grit.

He could taste grit between his teeth, on his tongue, feel it in his nose, in his lungs, choking him.

They tasted grit in their mouths.