It embraced every human offense except a breach of good manners.

She snatched up the nearest weapon of correction at hand--a tablespoon--and rapped her young friend smartly with it on the arm that was nearest to her.
"My table is not the club table," said the old lady.

"Hold up your head.
Don't look at your fork--look at me.

I allow nobody to be out of spirits in My house.

I consider it to be a reflection on Me.