On the one side was a stand of moss roses, on the other a dressing-table, and a glass à la Psyche, over whose surface the wax tapers flung a soft light, worthy of any complexion, even had it rivalled the caliph Vathek's pages, whose skins were fair as the enamel of Frangistan.

Pandarus: Fair prince, here is good broken music. Paris: You have broke it, cousin: and, by my life, you shall make it whole again.

Broad shading elms and sugar maples kept foothold there, spreading sun-traced shadows or holding twigfuls of snow.

Oysters and whitebait and a tin of pate, peaches and a pineapple and one of our fowls; well, a woman might like to give herself a nice little dinner once in a while, but not a bottle of wine at four shillings and a three and sixpenny tin of cigarettes, for I never will believe she's took to drink and smoking of a suddent, so own up, Mr. Widgett, it's a little dinner-party on your account.