Some of the tables were upset, and there was a faint tang, perceptible above the fugg of the place, which told him that it was here the shot had been fired.

The most idiotic medicaster, when he had named, or, as they term it, diagnosticated a typhoid fever, found himself upon a level with the medical celebrities of the epoch. […] If the patient died, that was perfectly simple: he had a typhoid fever to which he was inevitably doomed to succumb! If he recovered, what a noble triumph for the medicaster, even when he had perhaps arbitrarily imposed the name of typhoid upon a simple and benignant fever, as is constantly done!

His ribs broke under the weight of the rocks piled on his chest.

For some minutes he walked leisurely but uncollectedly, along the line of stalls; as if contemplating the rich display of summer fruits still remaining unsold.