In Kansas no man dares to flaunt his sign in the eyes of the public, to entice custom; the liquor seller is the sneaking boot-legger, skulking jointist, criminal and outlaw, afraid of every shadow that falls across his hiding-place […]

[…] he was thrilled by the spectacle of wringing his own blood from the sodden gauze pad into the sodden towel.

Being 26, I flung myself actorishly on London and without any intimations of my own ludicrousness spent two years showing God what I thought of him by letting myself go.

Hard water will spot if it is left on a surface.