[…] there is neither house nor landes, nor great store of gold & siluer, nor honor and noblenes of blood, nor greatnes of office, and estate, nor the grace and vehemencie of speach, which doth so much lighten, and so sweetlie becalme the life of man, as an vndefiled conscience […]

It was meant to be a matinée jacket but it bore a far stronger resemblance to a string vest, so many and various were the holes where the inexpert knitter had dropped stitches.

We could barely hear her oversoft voice.

Sir Maurice made a rough, dyspeptic sound, as if chewing a mint.