From the great David Herbert Lawrence:
"Did you hate Clifford?' she said at last.
`Hate him, no! I've met too many like him to upset myself hating him. I know beforehand I don't care for his sort, and I let it go at that.'
`What is his sort?'
`Nay, you know better than I do. The sort of youngish gentleman a bit like a lady, and no balls.'
`What balls?'
`Balls! A man's balls!'
She pondered this.
`But is it a question of that?' she said, a little annoyed.
`You say a man's got no brain, when he's a fool: and no heart, when he's mean; and no stomach when he's a funker. And when he's got none of that spunky wild bit of a man in him, you say he's got no balls. When he's a sort of tame.'
She pondered this.
`And is Clifford tame?' she asked.
`Tame, and nasty with it: like most such fellows, when you come up against 'em.'"



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