"My arm, I think," she said.
"No, mine.

It's got to be mine.

What's the good of beating about the bush ?" He spoke with a queer hoarseness, and his hand shook.
She laughed again.

He was trying his parlor tricks, as Hosack had called them one night at the Crystal Room, watching him greet a woman with both hands.

What a joke to see what he would do if she pretended to be carried away.