She showed me her portrait, written by herself. I only remember what she states of her mouth, which, she says, was not only beautiful and red, but had a thousand little natural airs and graces not to be found in any other mouth. Oh, I must not forget her figure, which, she assured the reader, was the best-made and the finest that could be seen: nothing could be more regular, more graceful, or more easy.

He is shabbily smart, and looks what he is, a slackish, hard-drinking unsuccessful man of forty-two.

This is, of course, only one of the many instances in which the interests of the possessionless sex and the possessionless class tend to coincide.

“That'll drive him spare.”