First of all they dined together at a delightful little Franco-Italian pothouse near Leicester Square, where they had bouillabaisse (imagine the Laird's delight), and spaghetti, and a poulet rôti, which is such a different affair from a roast fowl!

So please, dear, won't you let us come up and talk nicely together? . . . [W]e can get you out of this scrape if you will meet us halfway and be a nice sensible boy.

By asserting control over his own life and death, the satyagrahi was able to possess a different, more intimate kind of sovereignty – over his own person.

[…] when he came to climb some of Hammondsport's slantiest hills he found the pedalling as hard, if not harder, than walking.