The colonel and his sponsor made a queer contrast: Greystone [the sponsor] long and stringy, with a face that seemed as if a cold wind was eternally playing on it.

All the rounds like Jacob's ladder rise.

The rich sewer gases fugged around her and she shook her head, trying to clear it.

By the time it was my turn, I was more slammed than I had been in a very long time, maybe ever. Especially around that many people. My eyelids felt heavy. […] And everybody as drunk as me. They wouldn't even remember.