As I entered the room, the fire from the large square stove, where the logs were burning lustily, threw a red, flickering light through the wide-open door over the room, which was very deep, and furnished in the old style with high-backed Russia leather chairs, and one of those settees which were intended for farthingales and straight up-and-down positions.

Smith himself can't fully explain the extended retail life of the eponymous product, offering that maybe his simple alliterative name is part of the cachet. Author Steve Rushin concurs, noting: “Somehow Goran Ivanisevic is somehow less rappable” (Rushin, 2016, p. 138). Smith says he still meets people who tell him: “I didn't realize you were an actual person, I thought you were just a shoe” ...

Lie here ye weedes that I diſdaine to weare, This compleat armor, and this curtle-axe Are adiuncts more beſeeming Tamburlaine.

[W]hile all mourned and honoured the dead, thou hast lived to merit our hate and execration—lived to unite thyself with the vile tyrant who murdered thy nearest and dearest— […]