A little further on, to the right, was a large garage, where the charabancs stood, half in and half out of the yard.

Male clothing was worn in layers of a tunic, cote, or cotte with a surcoat over a linen shirt. […] a long sleeveless tunic. When sleeves (and sometimes a hood) were added, the cyclas became a ganache (a cap-sleeved surcoat, usually shown with hood of matching color) or a gardcorps (a long, generous-sleeved travelling robe).

And the one subject that I get an A plus in every time, is the ancient art of crushing. I crush, therefore I am. I've decided to share the benefit of my wisdom and after months of hopelessly lusting after Dylan, I've REALISED that there are twelve degrees of crushing from the slightly embarrassing things most girls will do to catch the eye of the heir to their heart, to the verging on ridiculous stunts you pull when you're in the grip of a passion that renders you powerless.

The lucidity of his answers argued against his being insane or confused.