To have gone down into the stalls and hit that oily martinet in the mouth would have been to lay himself open to a charge of cruelty to animals.

He was so puny and fat and soft.

Poor little Tootles, who had had a tardy and elusive recognition torn from her grasp! It was a tragedy.
It was not much more than a stone's-throw from the theater to the rabbit warren in West Forty-sixth Street, but Martin gave a shout at a prowling taxi.

Not even policemen and newspaper boys and street cleaners must see this girl as she was then, in a collapse of smashed hopes, sobbing dreadfully, completely broken down.

It wasn't fair.