There she sat staring at the fire as she had stared at the broken mustard-pot.

In spite of defending indecency, Jacob doubted whether he liked it in the raw.

He had a violent reversion towards male society, cloistered rooms, and the works of the classics; and was ready to turn with wrath upon whoever it was who had fashioned life thus.
Then Florinda laid her hand upon his knee.
After all, it was none of her fault.

But the thought saddened him.

It's not catastrophes, murders, deaths, diseases, that age and kill us; it's the way people look and laugh, and run up the steps of omnibuses.
Any excuse, though, serves a stupid woman.