‘Children crawled over each other like little grey worms in the gutters,’ he said. ‘The only red things about them were their buttocks and they were raw. Their faces looked as if snails had slimed on them and their mothers were like great sick beasts whose byres had never been cleared. […]’

When you say she was a tart, do you mean a whore? It's the same difference, Betty said.

I never could abide shoemakers, said an old servant,—and it ended in her marrying one.

Stout Deloraine nor sighed, nor prayed, / Nor saint, nor ladye, called to aid: / But he stooped his head, and couched his spear, / And spurred his steed to full career. / The meeting of these champions proud / Seemed like the bursting thunder-cloud.