She could number her friends on her fingers.

Admiral Fakenham's exclamations of the name of the place where she now was, conveyed an inky idea of the fall she had undergone.

Counting her absent brother, with himself, his father, and the two Whitechapel girls, it certainly was an unexampled fall, to say of her, that they and those two girls had become by the twist of circumstances the most serviceable of her friends.
Her husband was the unriddled riddle we have in the wealthy young lord,--burning to possess, and making, tatters of all he grasped, the moment it was his own.

Glints of the devilish had shot from him at the gamingtables,--fine haunts for the study of our lower man.

He could be magnificent in generosity; he had little humaneness.