She could stand any amount of it; she never had enough.

All the same, it did not seem to warm her.
Parched, withered, cold, she lay stretched on the stones like a piece of tossed-up driftwood.

The women at the Bay thought she was very, very fast.

Her lack of vanity, her slang, the way she treated men as though she was one of them, and the fact that she didn't care twopence about her house and called the servant Gladys "Glad-eyes," was disgraceful.
Standing on the veranda steps Mrs.Kember would call in her indifferent, tired voice, "I say, Glad-eyes, you might heave me a handkerchief if I've got one, will you ?" And Glad-eyes, a red bow in her hair instead of a cap, and white shoes, came running with an impudent smile.

It was an absolute scandal! True, she had no children, and her husband...