The dramatic critic furtively took a set of false teeth out of his waistcoat pocket; wiped them with a bandanna handkerchief, and inserted them in his mouth.
He tottered out of the room.
I got up and began to inspect the pen-and-ink sketches on the walls.
The faded paltry caricatures of faded paltry lesser lights that confronted me from fly-blown frames on the purple walls almost made me shiver.
"There you are, Granger," said a cheerful voice behind me.

"Come and have some dinner." I went and had some dinner.

It was seasoned by small jokes and little personalities.

A Teutonic journalist, a musical critic, I suppose, inquired as to the origin of the meagre pheasant.

Fox replied that it had been preserved in the back-yard.