mete

The judge, with a heavy sigh, had to mete out the punishment. Each crime was weighed, and then the sentence was decided. It was a hard task, but fairness had to be served.

The council had to mete out the scant resources. Each family received a small portion of grain. They knew it wouldn't last, but it was all they had to deal out.

The grizzled prospector squinted at the meager pile of ore. "This is all we got," he grumbled, his voice rough. He began to mete out the pittance to each of us, a small, dusty portion that barely promised a warm meal.

The chef, grumpy as a badger, decided to mete out the cake. He gave me a crumb, then a sliver, and my brother got the entire frosting mountain. It wasn't fair! He probably ate half of it before he started.

My dog, a fluffy potato, only gets to mete out one belly rub per hour. If he begs more, I mete him a stern look, which he finds hilarious, then he starts a chase for that single rub.

The judge, stern and unyielding, seemed to mete out sentences with a heavy hand. Each guilty plea received the same grim pronouncement, the years he decided to mete out leaving no room for hope.

The village elder, with weary hands, began to mete out the meager rations of irradiated kelp. Each scoop, a precise measure, determined survival. The hushed murmurs of the hungry reflected the gravity of what little they had left to share.

The seasoned mechanic, sweat beading on his brow, would mete out the remaining repair time carefully. Each minute counted as he juggled two broken-down hover-bikes. He knew he couldn't finish both before the client's deadline, so he had to divide his efforts precisely.

The cafeteria lady, notorious for her stingy portions, would mete out peas like they were precious gems. You'd get three measly green spheres and a lecture on "portion control" if you dared ask for seconds.

The exhausted aid worker could only mete out the remaining water, each precious drop a grim reminder of their dwindling supplies. The relief was palpable when the truck finally arrived, allowing them to mete out food and medical kits.

The lottery numbers were finally announced. We watched breathlessly as the host began to mete out the fate of each participant. Some jumped for joy, their dreams now within reach, while others slumped, their hopes extinguished by the cruel chance of the draw.

The seasoned prospector would mete out their meager water supply carefully, a precious few swallows each dawn. Each sip was measured against the gnawing thirst, a stark testament to the parched landscape and the dwindling reserves they clung to.

The expedition leader had to carefully mete out the meager rations, knowing each biscuit and watered portion was all that stood between survival and disaster for the hollow-eyed crew adrift on the obsidian sea. Fear gnawed, making every division a matter of life and death.

The notoriously stingy dragon, Bartholomew, would only mete out crumbs of cheese to his hoard of pet mice, claiming each morsel was a testament to their exceptional servitude. The mice, however, suspected Bartholomew simply enjoyed watching them gnaw with desperate intensity.

The exhausted farmer looked at the meager harvest, his brow furrowed with worry. He knew he'd have to carefully mete out what little grain they had, ensuring each family received just enough to survive the lean winter ahead.

After the arduous expedition, the meager provisions were meticulously measured. Each weary soul would have their sustenance meted out, a minuscule yet vital ration. Survival hinged on this equitable distribution, ensuring no one starved while others hoarded.

The allotment commission decided to mete out rations: a meager portion of nutrient paste for the colonists huddled in the arid crater, a stark decree against the lingering whispers of rebellion. Each grudging handful felt like a judgment.

The overseer would mete out rations, a meager handful of nutrient paste for each of us, a grim accounting of our dwindling supplies. Every spoonful felt like a tiny, calculated reprieve from the gnawing hunger, a stark testament to our precarious survival.

The capricious pastry chef, known for his arcane culinary predilections, would mete out minuscule morsels of his ambrosial éclairs, as if dispensing royal boons to his obsequious admirers, ensuring each fortunate recipient received precisely one quantum of sugary bliss.

The meager rations were parceled out with a grim efficiency; each soldier received only what the quartermaster deemed appropriate, a sparse allowance to mete out for their grueling march. Survival depended on this meticulous distribution.