His tastes were low.

He frequented the haunts of boxing men; her lord informed her of his having made, or of his making, matches to run or swim or walk certain distances against competitors or within a given time.

He had also half a dozen boys or more in tow, whom he raced out of town on Sundays; a nucleus of the school he intended to form.
But will not Achilles become by comparison a common rushlight where was a blazing torch, if we see him clap a clown's cap on the head whose golden helm was fired by Pallas?
Nay, and let him look the hero still: all the more does he point finger on his meanness of nature.
Turning to another, it is another kind of shame that a woman feels, if she consents to an exchange of letters--shameful indeed, but not such a feeling of deadly sickness as comes with the humiliating view of an object of admiration degraded.

Bad she may be; and she may be deceived, vilely treated, in either case.

And what is a woman's pride but the staff and banner of her soul, beyond all gifts?
He who wounds it cannot be forgiven--never!--he has killed the best of her.