The fly that had flown up from the ordure of the slums, bringing with it the leaven of social rottenness, had poisoned all these men by merely alighting on them.

It was well done--it was just.

She had avenged the beggars and the wastrels from whose caste she issued.

And while, metaphorically speaking, her sex rose in a halo of glory and beamed over prostrate victims like a mounting sun shining brightly over a field of carnage, the actual woman remained as unconscious as a splendid animal, and in her ignorance of her mission was the good-natured courtesan to the last.
She was still big; she was still plump; her health was excellent, her spirits capital.

But this went for nothing now, for her house struck her as ridiculous.