In Gilded-Age Newport, an upstairs-downstairs romance between a well-born son and a humble maid is cut short of marriage.

Many bees warped and spun about us, and some even alighted on Grandfather's bare head, or on his neck. He did not disturb them.

Willie stuck out his hand and Skinner gave it a cursory squeeze, then breezed past him. “C'mon, man, get out of this here goddamn rain!” He sailed into the airport lobby and stopped up short. “My God,” he cried, “what a Duckburg this place is.” […]

In more cheersome vein, there are young Edward's “boules,” which could not be “marbles,” although they so obviously are.