Love srikes the lyre with such exquisite numbers, That faunic Rage is lulled to gentle slumbers.

...Mr. Crofts (that was the name of my brute) was gone out of the house, after waiting till he had tired his patience for Mrs. Brown's return, they came thundering up-stairs...

The country club where we coffee’d was hushed, even desolate on a rainy morning—the dark woods you would expect, the sweet selection of teas.

There are one or two slips of the pen—L.S.W.R. trains did not run through Ludgate Hill, for instance—….