A female in the lower ranks of life cares but little for the other portions of her dress if she has a good cloak; and certainly her ordinary appearance would be more thought of, if the huge cover-slut were not always at hand to hide dilapidations in her other garments. Oh, then, I'm not fit to be seen; hadn't I better tidy myself a bit?—but asy! sure when I throw on my cloak no one will know what I am, is a too frequent observation; and away they go, shrouded from head to foot in this woollen hide-all.

People leaning forward, their lips parted a little, their eyes agog, staring at her, Elinor, with a horrible ghoulish excitement . . .

Lacrosse is not a sport; lacrosse is a faggoty college activity. I don't care how rough it is, anytime you're running around a field, waving a stick with a little net on the end of it, you're engaged in a faggoty college activity.

He wore a feather in his cap, and wagg'd it too often.