I'm serious, Louis; no man can stand 'em--the majority." Once more he started away, hesitated, came back.
"Who's this Countess that Sam is so crazy about ?" "A sweet little woman, well-bred, and very genuine and sincere." "Never heard of her in Dartford," muttered the doctor.
Neville laughed grimly: "Billy, Tenth Street and lower Fifth Avenue and Greenwich Village and Chelsea and Stuyvesant Square--and Syringa Avenue, Dartford, are all about alike.

Bird Centre is just as stupid as Manhattan; and there never was and never will be a republic and a democracy in any country on the face of this snob-cursed globe." The doctor, very red, stared at him.
"By jinks!" he said, "I guess I'm one after all.

Now, who in hell would suspect that!--after all the advice I've given you!" "It was another fellow's family, that's all," said Neville wearily.
"Theories work or they don't; only few care to try them on themselves or their own families--particularly when they devoutly believe in them." "Gad! That's a stinger! You've got me going all right," said the doctor, wincing, "and you're perfectly correct.

Here I've been practically counselling you to marry where your inclination led you, and let the rest go to blazes; and when it's a question of Sam doing something similar, I retire hastily across the river and establish a residence in Missouri.

What a rotten, custom-ridden bunch of snippy-snappy-snobbery we are after all!...