He isn't satisfied with those hundred and seven words.

He never was in the least satisfied with anything that he wrote, but he has searched his mind and his conscience and he believes that under the circumstances they are the very best that he can do.

Anyway, they can stand in their present order until--after lunch.
A sign of his youth was the fact that to the day of his death he had denied himself the luxury and slothfulness of habits.

I have never seen him smoke automatically as most men do.

He had too much respect for his own powers of enjoyment and for the sensibilities, perhaps, of the best Havana tobacco.