I was much bound and beholding to the right reverend father.

Gallop apace, you fiery footed ſteedes, / Towards Phœbus lodging, ſuch a Wagoner / As Phaeton would whip you to the weſt, / And bring in Cloudie night immediately.

You can't afford this house. Your PITI payment would be too high for your income.

[…] here is a conversation between this towering Christian and his absolute antithesis in the imperial hierarchy, a befeathered pagan rain-doctor of the Bakwain tribe in central Africa—the very class of man, one might suppose, for whose enlightenment Victoria’s Empire existed.