Germs of unutterable depravity, he was sure, lurked somewhere in his own nature.
"You make me feel," said he, "as if I weren't fit to black the boots of Jezebel." "That's a proper frame of mind," said Zora.

"Would you be good and tie this vexatious shoestring ?" The poor fool bent over it in reverent ecstasy, but Zora was only conscious of the reddening of his gills as he stooped.
This, to her, was the charm of their intercourse: that he never presumed upon their intimacy.

When she remembered the prophecy of the Literary Man from London, she laughed at it scornfully.

Here was a man, at any rate, who regarded her beauty unconcerned, and from whose society she derived no emotional experiences.

She felt she could travel safely with him to the end of the earth.
This reflection came to her one morning while Turner, her maid, was brushing her hair.