Then he burst into a stream of horrible profanity. What's the game? he cried, glaring round him. Do you think I am easy and that you can play me for a sucker? Is it a frame-up, or what? You've chose the wrong man for a try-on of that sort.

What was your name? Pearl. Ruby and Pearl, mother and daughter. It's an ugly name, isn't it? No, it isn't. And I meant it, it wasn't. Old-fashioned, perhaps, but nice. She stared at me. Do you know what pearls are? They're ugliness: dirt or sand gets in an oyster and the oyster coats it over so that it won't be irritating.

A hundred tents upspear from out the foliage, and countless flocks and herds are safely pasturing around them. That is Beer-sheba, on the borders of the Philistines' land […]

[…] They told me that the Holy Rood had lean'd / And bow'd above me; […] / [I]f it bow'd, whether it symbol'd ruin / Or glory, who shall tell?