Since the beginning of the world all men have hunted me like a wolf—kings and sages, and poets and lawgivers, all the churches, and all the philosophies. But I have never been caught yet, and the skies will fall in the time I turn to bay. I have given them a good run for their money, and I will now.

[…]the formidable old Charles Soames—who scared even me, when I met him later on, with his wall eye, monocle and spongebag pants.

His heart sank at the vision on the veranda: Syed Omar, in newspaper shirt, making a spectacular entrance, crooning throatily.

We would then take a surrogate pair consisting of two wydes: the first from the high area, the second from the low area.