My mother happily smiled and then, certain that she looked like a mouthsome Tyrannosaur, tried to stretch her lips down over her hundred teeth; but concealment was a lost cause.

I yielded, and unlock'd her all my heart, / Who with a grain of manhood well reſolv'd / Might eaſily have ſhook off all her ſnares: / But foul effeminacy held me yok't / Her Bond-ſlave; […]

[title]

It was when curiosity about Gatsby was at its highest that the lights in his house failed to go on one Saturday night—and, as obscurely as it had begun, his career as Trimalchio was over.