[T]he gladness I have felt in France on a Sunday, or decadi, which I caught from the faces around me, was a sentiment more truly religious than all the stupid silliness which the streets of London ever inspired where the Sabbath is so decorously observed.

Further, the grazing blow caused the ball to pick up a furiously wicked spin, making it a madly twirling object. The ball skimmed off the sidewall near the corner and into the lower-right corner of the front wall.

See — there is rouge and whore's paint on thy white starched and pleated shirt!

I said, never clip a dog's nails without a styptic pencil handy.