"Poetry is none of my business." "There, Dick, you are wrong," said O'Toole, sententiously.

Both Misset and Gaydon came to a dead stop and stared.

Never had poetry so strange an advocate.

O'Toole set his great legs apart and his arms akimbo.

He rocked himself backwards and forwards on his heels and toes, while a benevolent smile of superiority wrinkled across his broad face from ear to ear.