Can I but see Robb cast down, I shall withdraw from the arena and hum (I have no voice) my _Nunc dimittis_." Was there a twinkle in the editor's eye as it met Lashmar's smile?
Constance was watching him with unnaturally staid countenance, and her glance ran round the table.
"I'm only afraid," said Lady Ogram, "that he won't stand again." "I think he will," cried Breakspeare, "I think he will.

The ludicrous creature imagines that Westminster couldn't go on without him.

He hopes to die of the exhaustion of going into the lobby, and remain for ever a symbol of thick-headed patriotism.

But we will floor him in his native market-place.

We will drub him at the ballot.