Unless one does use one's soul it becomes rusted and useless." Her face was drawn with intensity, her lifted hand shook a long slender forefinger at Chick, and that urbane young man had just about all he could do to preserve his gravity.
But he went calmly on.

"Do you know," he said, "I sometimes think my soul is a bit rusty." "Very likely," said Sam Blaney, who didn't like to be long out of the conversation.

"Suppose you join our coterie and get the rust removed.
Nor am I joking, Mr.Channing.

Many there be who laugh at our earnestness, but only because of their own ignorance." "I dare say that is so," put in Fred Fairfield, in sincere tones; "that's why I'm specially interested in knowing just what you do to tinker up a rusty soul.

Pardon my rude diction, but I am not aesthetic myself.