How many of my fair friends in Mayfair and Belgravia would have made their drawing-rooms unspeakable just for the sake of not hurting the feelings of Anastasius Papadopoulos ?" She put aside her work and, leaning over the arm of the chair, her chin in her hands, looked at me gratefully.
"I'm so glad you've said that.

Dale can't understand it.

He wants me to clear the trash away." "Dale," said I, "is young and impetuous.

I am a battered old philosopher with one foot in the grave." Quick moisture gathered in her eyes.

"You hurt me," she said.