The Indians have a kind of Crocodile in Ganges, which hath a horn growing out of his nose like a Rhinocerot

Papa did the best thing he could do under the circumstances: he got up and left us, and as he rose, Lilian put her thumb to her nose, and “took a sight” at him, much to my inward disgust, […]

[…] while the adversary on his right will repeatedly bury in the discard the very tiles he wishes to chow but can't.

The embodiment of the no-compromise style the public disdains, Bachmann seems congenitally incapable of such a move unless it's a reverse Sister Souljah moment, where she castigates her party for being insufficiently beholden to its base.