"It's cold, and I hate a wind of any kind." "Hate a wind?
You're effeminate; you're a boulevardier.

It would do you good to be pitched in a gale about the coast of Skye.

A fellow of your temperament has no business in these relaxing latitudes.

You want tonics." "Too true, old man.

I know myself at least as well as you know me." "Then what a contemptible creature you must be! If a man knows his weakness, he is inexcusable for not overcoming it." "A preposterous contradiction, allow me to say.