Some of the young dandies and dandyesses allow the hair to grow long, and when thickly anointed and brushed straight in all directions, the expression of the face becomes singularly wild and savage: such a head would make a capital sign for the Sun Fire and Life Office.

[H]e stroked a soft blue cat with celadon eyes which had appeared from nowhere and now made itself comfortable in his lap […].

Who ate all the pies? Who ate all the pies? You fat bastard, you fat bastard, you ate all the pies. Loser!

'You're turning into a honeypot,' he would say to her: it was a criticism of sins uncommitted, it was jeering as if she were getting above herself, it was a warning, no doubt of that, and there was something else which she could barely fathom, it was hurt at the approaching betrayal, a staving off of loss.