"You're the vine and I'm the lamppost," Skerrett said. "Mary, do you know what a pocket-pistol is?"
"I have seen such weapons concealed about the persons of modern warriors."
"There's one in my overcoat-pocket, with a cup at the butt and a cork at the muzzle. Skate off now, like an angel, and get it. Bring Fanny, too. She is restorative."
"Are you alive enough to admire that, Dick?" he continued, as she skimmed away.
"It would pat a soul under the ribs of Death."
"I venerate that young woman," says Peter. "You see what a beauty she is, and just as unspoiled as this ice. Unspoiled beauties are rarer than rocs' eggs.
"She has a singularly true face," Wade replied, "and that is the main thing,—the most excellent thing in man or woman."
"Yes, truth makes that nuisance, beauty, tolerable."
"You did not do me the honor to present me."
"I saw you had gone a great way beyond that, my boy. Have you not her initials in cambric on your brow? Not M. T., which wouldn't apply; but M. D."