Let me ask you something, Rocky, man to man. I think she's the fuck of the century, what do you think?

Gave parties for all the campus arty-farties to come and drink up my booze and patronize me. . . . I could have had you that first night I brought you here.

It [a house] stood on a sharp bleak corner, where that tempestuous wind Euroclydon kept up a worse howling than ever it did about poor Paul's tossed craft. Euroclydon, nevertheless, is a mighty pleasant zephyr to any one in-doors, with his feet on the hob quietly toasting for bed.

NEROLY, a ſort of Perfume.]