'Some of their women stand it.
She's delicately built.

You can't treat a lute like a drum without destroying the instrument.

We look on at a murder!' The haggard prospect from that step of the climax checked his delivery.
Redworth knew him to be a sober man in office, a man with a head for statecraft: he had made a weighty speech in the House a couple of hours back.

This Opera cantatrice, no beauty, though gentle, thrilling, winning, was his corner of romance.
'Do you come here often ?' he asked.
'Yes, I can't sleep.' 'London at night, from the bridge, looks fine.

By the way...' 'It 's lonely here, that's the advantage,' said Rainer; 'I keep silver in my pocket for poor girls going to their homes, and I'm left in peace.
An hour later, there's the dawn down yonder.' 'By the way,' Redworth interposed, and was told that after these nights of her singing she never slept till morning.