Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

I had come to know, in that piecemeal way in which one actually gets to know one's fellows—waiting for later experience to confirm or modify earlier impressions—the hapless, tragic Flora; her father, de Barral, the pseudo-financier, fraudulent through unimaginative stupidity rather than criminal intent; the kindly-cruel pair of Fynes; that perfect, chivalrous knight of the sea, Captain Anthony, Flora's fiery-patient lover; his splendidly staunch second officer, Powell, and the analytic Marlow, also a sailor-man, who acts in the capacity of ultra-modern chorus to this tragedy of chance.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Do you want a case for the secret-jointed cue only, or a case for your whole kit?"
"My whole kit?"
"Your complete set of cues, Sir."
"Never heard of such a thing."
"I assure you, Sir, that all the best people go in for sets—just as with golf, Sir. This is a complete set; the whole, including the case, for ten guineas." And he showed me a long green-lined mahogany box containing foreign-looking cues (in addition to a secret-jointed one) packed as carefully as a set of drawing instruments.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Not even the constant loss of small articles from the counter, such as manicure sticks, and digestive tablets, and jujubes, and face cream and smokers' cachous, which never ought to be spread about there at all, because they are so easily conveyed by the dishonest customer into pocket or muff, can seriously upset the smiling side of the chemist's ledger.
Every night, when at last, laden with gold, he climbs to his bed, he hopes piously that the morrow may be colder.
And it usually is.
He will soon be a millionaire.
It is only a warm wind that can blow the chemist no good.
Source: Gutenberg

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