“The voice of Love seemed to call to me, but it was a wrong number.”
...there was practically one handwriting common to the whole school when it came to writing lines. It resembled the movements of a fly that had fallen into an ink-pot, and subsequently taken a little brisk exercise on a sheet of foolscap by way of restoring the circulation.
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“The voice of Love seemed to call to me, but it was a wrong number.”
“He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more.”
“I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don’t remember what I did before that. Just loafed, I suppose.”
“A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of one who has searched for the leak in life's gas-pipe with a lighted candle.”
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