Lor’, sir, you wouldn’t have ’em in short clothes, poor little dears? And she said it in a tone that seemed to imply I had suggested some unmanly outrage.

[T]here is a variety of drunkenness. . . . Some stagger about in each other's arms, whispering maudlin words—others start quarrels upon the slightest pretext, and come to blows and have to be pulled apart.

We follow up or out at six years. Either you become a partner or you are gone.

Indeed, some of the little naked human figures seemed to display a near comical sangfroid, even as they were pecked by giant birds, hatched out of eggs, had huge flowers inserted in their bottoms, or, in the case of one of my favourites, sported a monstrous blueberry instead of a head.