It often seemed to Mallet that he wholly lacked the prime requisite of a graceful flaneur—the simple, sensuous, confident relish of pleasure.

'Well, Mr. Frodo,' he said. 'I'm in a bit of a fix. Rose and me had settled to call him Frodo, with your leave; but it's not him, it's her. Though as pretty a maidchild as anyone could hope for, taking after Rose more than me, luckily. So we don't know what to do.'

creamy milk

[…] but considering Julian was nowhere to be found, it felt almost right for her to download 27 Dresses or something equally chick-flickish and zone out.