“Heavens!” exclaimed Nina, “the blue-stocking and the fogy!—and yours are pale blue, Eileen!—you’re about as self-conscious as Drina—slumping there with your hair tumbling à la Mérode! Oh, it's very picturesque, of course, but a straight spine and good grooming is better.[…]”

Evidently, he wasn't carrying heat with him at the time." Civilized place like Rome, why bother? Granger observed.

Thrice have I beat the wing, and rid with night / About the world.

Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall.