In her essay Zora Neale Hurston: A Cautionary Tale and a Partisan View, Alice Walker deems Hurston, Billie Holiday, and Bessie Smith an unholy trinity.

Probably fuckstrated, counting on her young stud there to lay some steeler pipe, clean the cobwebs out of Little Miss Fuzzy.

Between two such unloquacious persons, dialogue was naturally slow at first, but they had a long drive before them.

With forty sous which remained, he went to a low gambling house, where fortune, or something surer to the skilful practitioner, so well besteaded him that he was able to clothe himself decently preparatory to entering Frascati's, the fashionable hell of Paris—a den of abomination early suppressed on the accession of Louis Philippe to the French throne.