The lips were of the usual marble pallor. The eyes were lustreless.

Philander went into the next room[…]and came back with a salt mackerel[…]. Next he put the mackerel in a fry-pan, and the shanty began to smell like a Banks boat just in from a v'yage.

'Look at the children, you nasty little bitch!' he sneered.

Even when you want to do it for yourself, outside of the marriage industrial complex, it's practically impossible.