Speed Is The Curse Of

People Who Start A Sentence With Personally (and They're Always Women) Ought To Be Thrown To The Lions. It's A Repulsive Habit.

Miss Grantham's Sense Of Humour Got The Better Of Her At This Point, And, Tottering Towards A Chair, She Sank Into It, Exclaiming In Tragic Accents:'oh Heavens! I Am Betrayed!' His Lordship Blenched; Both He And Miss Laxton Regarded Her With Guilty Dismay. Miss Grantham Buried Her Face In Her Handkerchief, And Uttered One Shattering Word: 'wretch!

Oh, 'tis Not My Qualities They Object To! 'tis My Lack Of Vice.

O God, I Love You To The Edge Of Madness, Venetia, But I'm Not Mad Yet--not So Mad That I Don't Know How Disastrous It Might Be To You--to Us Both! You Don't Realize What An Advantage I Should Be Taking Of Your Innocence!

Oh, Yes, She's Unusual!' He Said Bitterly. 'she Blurts Our Whatever May Come Into Her Head;she Tumbles From One Outrageous Escapade Into Another;she's Happier Gromming Horses And Hobnobbing With Stable-hands Than Going To Parties; She's Impertinent; You Daren't Catch Her Eye For Fear She Should Start To Giggle; She Hasn't Any Accomplishments; I Never Saw Anyone With Less Diginity; She's Abominable, And Damnably Hot At Hand, Frank To A Fault, And-a Darling!