Thousands upon thousands do it, according to their varying manner, every day.
'Flintwinch, give me that book!' The old man handed it to her from the table.

She put two fingers between the leaves, closed the book upon them, and held it up to her son in a threatening way.

'In the days of old, Arthur, treated of in this commentary, there were pious men, beloved of the Lord, who would have cursed their sons for less than this: who would have sent them forth, and sent whole nations forth, if such had supported them, to be avoided of God and man, and perish, down to the baby at the breast.

But I only tell you that if you ever renew that theme with me, I will renounce you; I will so dismiss you through that doorway, that you had better have been motherless from your cradle.

I will never see or know you more.