from Chapter 1
Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes---gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun.
These are all yawning; for no crumb of amusement ever falls...
...the reply that slides out of Mr. Tangle.
...give occasion for the least impeachment of his integrity.
She is perfectly well-bred. If she could be translated to Heaven tomorrow, she might be expected to ascend without any rapture.
She has beauty still, and if it be not in its heyday, it is not yet in its autumn.
...the old school---a phrase generally meaning any school that seems never to have been young...
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