From The Good Companions, by J. B. Priestley:

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“That’s what I should do in your place. Never hesitate a moment. Go slap into business.” Mrs. Chillingford said this with immense gusto, then went slap into a piece of sandwich cake.

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“Cynthia Grumm, you know, who lives in Paris and has abolished the sentence altogether and makes new words all the time, has promised to write for us.”

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“You know how things do get about.” She herself did not know at all how such things got about, but it sounded convincing.
“Rather,” said Hilary, who knew even less. They looked at one another knowingly, and enjoyed themselves.

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Mr. Rathbury’s moustache made some vague sound that implied it was in entire agreement with her.

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“What you want now is a change,” he concluded, with the air of a man who knew what a change was, even though he had never had one.

***
The tune was his, and he began toying ecstatically with it. Now it ran whispering in the high treble; now it crooned and gurgled in the bass; and then, off it went scampering, with a flash of red heels and a tossing of brown curls. There was no holding it at all. It pirouetted round the room, mocking the desks and blackboards and maps: the air was full of its bright mischief.

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And she swept round as if she were on a swivel, drew herself up, and marched out.

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Such was Fauntley. It was impossible to dislike him, but it was not difficult to feel that somehow one would be better off in some place where he was not.

***
“But look here,” Felton began, signalling an alarm with his eye-glasses.
“No time to look there, Felton,” said Inigo sternly.