I was going to boak: I made the window and opened it but most of the sickness hit the window-sill in a heap.
He’d skipped breakfast—didn’t like the idea of boaking it back up on the flight.
I think it was at this moment that Patricia lurched from the table, informing everyone that she was going to be sick and indeed was as good as her word, throwing up before reaching the door (‘Heinrich, fetch a clout — the lassie’s boaked!’).
She had to keep stopping to spit gobbits of rising boak into sinks and old tea mugs.