While not exactly disgruntled, he was far from feeling gruntled. He spoke with a certain what-is-it in his voice, and I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.

We do not tell old friends beneath our roof-tree that they are an offence to the eyesight.

It's not that I don't trust you, Dunstable, it's simply that I don't trust you.

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.

She's a sort of human vampire-bat

But everything is relative, Bertie... You, for instance, are my relative, and I am your relative.

In his normal state he would not strike a lamb. I’ve known him to do it’ ‘Do what?’ ‘Not strike lambs