He knows how I hate her flowers, and he put her nosegay in the vase out of my way.

There was a woman's face painted on the china, and he told me it was the living image of _her_ face.

It was no more like her than I am.

I was in such a rage that I up with the book I was reading at the time and shied it at the painted face.

Over the vase went, bless your heart, crash to the floor.