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“Miss Serrano can dance like a house afire,” John Martin of The New York Times wrote in his review of Agnes de Mille’s “Fall River Legend” in 1960.

“I bet your daddy’s up there with Pa and them,” she whispered from behind the palm-frond fan she was fluttering like a house afire.

Those big rats poured out of there like a house afire!

“I was running like a house afire, as best you could with all the gear on and all, and I know why he wasn’t running: There was a culvert.”

I tend to put spaces between my “ha”s, but, if I’m laughing and typing like a house afire, I leave them out.