He felt that he had chosen the one who was in all respects the superior; and a man naturally likes to look forward to having the best. He would be the very Mawworm of bachelors who pretended not to expect it.
George Eliot. Middlemarch.
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Old Lady L: Oh, he swears! he swears! Years in growing good we become profligate in a moment. If you swear again, I won't stay in this house.
Mawworm: (advances) Nor I neither: aren't you ashamed of yourself? have you no commenseration on your souls? Ah! poor wicked sinner! I pity you!