belligrent and as would be expected by a misandryist.
From the high barbicans of the tower two shafts of light fall on the smokepalled altarstone.
In the mangrove-type salt marsh, the entire marsh must be canaled or impounded.
The dentistress who, unwomanned by her victim’s feeble cries and the ashen pallor of his contorted visage, abruptly burst into tears, scampered from the surgery and locked herself in the attic, would very soon be drummed out of Wimpbeck Street by the Amalgamated Society of Dentists and (Pneumatic) Drillers. “Nor is that all. … What if the tender passion (if I may coin a phrase) should come stealing shyly in, to mar the dentistress’s aim and suffuse her damask cheek with a coy blush whenever she inserts a gimlet in Somebody’s ailing fang?[…]”
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