Moll had more humour, but was violent; stupid too.

Hilda Thomas was mealy-mouthed, all her silver frames aslant; egg-cups in the drawing-room; and the windows shrouded.

Lady Rocksbier, whatever the deficiencies of her profile, had been a great rider to hounds.

She used her knife with authority, tore her chicken bones, asking Jacob's pardon, with her own hands.
"Who is that driving by ?" she asked Boxall, the butler.
"Lady Firtlemere's carriage, my lady," which reminded her to send a card to ask after his lordship's health.

A rude old lady, Jacob thought.