He looked haggard and careworn, like a Borgia who has suddenly remembered that he has forgotten to shove cyanide in the consommé, and the dinner-gong due any moment.

She looked like something that might have occured to Ibsen in one of his less frivolous moments.

It seems to be one of Nature’s laws that the most attractive girls should have the least attractive brothers. Fillmore Nicholas had not worn well. At the age of seven he had been an extraordinarily beautiful child, but after that he had gone all to pieces; and now, at the age of twenty-five, it would be idle to deny that he was something of a mess.

In a series of events, all of which had been a bit thick, this, in his opinion, achieved the maximum of thickness.

The least thing upset him on the links. He missed short putts because of the uproar of the butterflies in the adjoining meadows.

You would not enjoy Nietzsche, sir. He is fundamentally unsound.