His youngest son has a motor-garage, and Polchester has asphalt--sic transit gloria, mundi.
Jeremy, clutching his green box with one hand and Hamlet's lead with the other, was in an ecstasy of happiness.

The louder the noise, the rocking motion, the stronger the smell, the better.

"Isn't it lovely ?" he murmured to Miss Jones during one of the pauses.
It may be that it was at this moment that Uncle Samuel finally made up his mind about Jeremy.

In spite of his dislike, even hatred of children, he had been coming slowly, during the last two years, to an affection for, and interest in, his nephew that was something quite new to his cynical, egoistic nature.

It had leapt into activity at Christmas time, then had died again.