“A tight little craft,” was Austin’s invariable comment on the matron;[…]. Near her wandered her husband, orientally bland, invariably affable, and from time to time squinting sideways, as usual, in the ever-renewed expectation that he might catch a glimpse of his stiff, retroussé moustache.

Mr Western, who imputed these symptoms in his daughter to her fall, advised her to be presently blooded by way of prevention.

When I first learned how to knit, it didn't occur to me that beads could be incorporated into knitting. […] I swatched and ripped, then swatched and ripped again—until I figured out how to get the beads to lie exactly where I wanted them to be.

Meanwhile the Abate exulted in successful vengeance, and the marquis smarted beneath the stings of disappointment.