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We must not spoil our fun with the small fry of osculatory contacts.

The man whom she had loved for his mute omniscience, stolid coarseness, grim perseverance in work, had stolen away.…

Drowse, a tiny town in the north of England, looked, indeed, so somnolent that one suspected it might have been somehow mislaid among those misty, gentle-sloped fields where it had fallen asleep forever.

a novella he had excitedly and hopefully composed, whose publication the previous year had done nothing to enhance his secure but pallid reputation.

The identical newspaper seller uttered his hollow crepuscular cry.