"Everybody knows Lady Anastasia's pleasant way of drawing off when she has won and the luck's beginning to turn against her." "I despise your insinuations madam," loftily replied Lady Anastasia, her face where it was not rouged turning the colour of putty.

"So common a creature as Mistress Salisbury--I prefer not to soil my lips by addressing you as _Sally_ Salisbury--I think that is the name by which you are best known among the Cheapside 'prentices and my lord's lackeys--ought to feel vastly honoured by being permitted to sit at the same table with a woman of my rank." "Your _rank_?
Indeed, you're quite right.

It _is_ rank.

Foh!" The handsome face was expressive of contemptuous abhorrence and her gesture emphasised the expression.

Lady Anastasia was goaded to fury.
"Why, you impudent, brazen-faced Drury Lane trull! A month at Bridewell would do you good, you----" Her ladyship's vocabulary of abuse was pretty extensive but it was cut short.