“I shoved on a dressing-gown, and flew downstairs like a mighty, rushing wind.”

“At that moment the gong sounded, and the genial host came tumbling downstairs like the delivery of a ton of coals.”

“Bicky rocked, like a jelly in a high wind.”

“He looked haggard and careworn, like a Borgia who has suddenly remembered that he has forgotten to shove cyanide in the consommé, and the dinner-gong due any moment.”

“I was in that painful condition which occurs when one has lost one's first wind and has not yet got one's second.”

“I say, Bertie," he said, after a pause of about an hour and a quarter."Hallo!""Do you like the name Mabel?""No.""No?""No.""You don't think there's a kind of music in the word, like the wind rustling gently through the tree-tops?""No."He seemed disappointed for a moment; then cheered up."Of course, you wouldn't. You always were a fat-headed worm without any soul, weren't you?""Just as you say. Who is she? Tell me all.”

“I flung open the door. I got a momentary flash of about a hundred and fifteen cats of all sizes and colours scrapping in the middle of the room, and then they all shot past me with a rush and out of the front door; and all that was left of the mobscene was the head of a whacking big fish, lying on the carpet and staring up at me in a rather austere sort of way, as if it wanted a written explanation and apology.”