What made this youth remarkable was that he was clad in all the pomp and glory of war, he was be-spurred, be-campaigned hatted, be-leggined, and be-sabred, and be-trussed like any old swashbuckler out of Old Whitechapel.

[…]so if any of you ginks are me frien's yeh better keep outen here so's yeh won't get hurted[…]

I told him to text message you when he's finished.

“My Continental prominence is improving,” I commented dryly. ¶ Von Lindowe cut at a furze bush with his silver-mounted rattan. ¶ “Quite so,” he said as dryly, his hand at his mustache. “I may say if your intentions were known your life would not be worth a curse.”