'Near to it was the portrait of his rib, Dame Middleton.'

From another point of view, it was a place without a soul. The well-to-do had hearts of stone; the rich were brutally bumptious; the Press, the Municipality, all the public men, were ridiculously, vaingloriously self-satisfied.

Head over to the Charlie Papa and fetch me the latest timetable.

Where the wind / Veers oft, as oft [a ship] so steers, and shifts her sail.