I'm always busting myself up against glass panes, not seeing, as you would, the open window a few inches off.

Do you see what I'm driving at ?" Apparently she didn't; for while she was speaking, he threw away his corona corona--a dream of a cigar for nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of a thousand (I glanced at Adrian who had religiously preserved two inches of ash on his)--and hauled out pipe and tobacco-pouch.

I could not hear what she said.

When she had finished, he edged a span nearer.
"What I want you to understand," said he, "is that I'm a simple sort of savage.

I can't follow all these intricate henry Jamesian complications of feeling.