For me, a quiet room--a quiet room and a book, a volume in the hand, held lightly between the fingers.

A volume of poems, lines metrical and cadenced; something by a sound Victorian.
We have no later poets." "Swinburne ?" suggested Miss Beam, an eager spinster.

"Swinburne, Mr.
Kinosling?
Ah, SWINBURNE!" "Not Swinburne," said Mr.Kinosling chastely.

"No." That concluded all the remarks about Swinburne.
Miss Beam retired in confusion behind another lady; and somehow there became diffused an impression that Miss Beam was erotic.
"I do not observe your manly little son," Mr.Kinosling addressed his hostess.
"He's out playing in the yard," Mrs.Bassett returned.

"I heard his voice just now, I think." "Everywhere I hear wonderful report of him," said Mr.Kinosling.