A lady in a dripping wet bonnet and shawl, with her two little hands out before her, went up to him, and in the next minute she had altogether disappeared under the folds of the old cloak, and was kissing one of his hands with all her might; whilst the other, I suppose, was engaged in holding her to his heart (which her head just about reached) and in preventing her from tumbling down. She was murmuring something about - forgive - dear William - dear, dear, dearest friend - kiss, kiss, kiss, and so forth - and in fact went on under the cloak in an absurd manner.

Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray