But oh that deep romantic chasm which slanted / Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! / A savage place! as holy and inchanted / As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted / By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
Consequently Mr. Micawber was soon so overcome, that he mingled his tears with hers and mine; until he begged me to do him the favour of taking a chair on the staircase, while he got her into bed.
But ideas and sentiments of alien kinds, or unorganizable kinds, were, if not rejected, yet accepted with indifference, and soon dropped away."
In his final years he [John Ogdon] gave an interview to an American journalist who noticed that “his handshake is a boneless fadeaway. His response to a lengthy anecdote from a close friend is likely to range from a non-committal ‘Mmmmmmm’ to a rare ‘Very interesting’.”
