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358 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1935






“Into the face of the young man who sat on the terrace of the Hotel Magnifique at Cannes there had crept a look of furtive shame, the shifty hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to speak French.”
'Oh, Reggie, you know there's almost nothing in this world I wouldn't do for you, my pet. I've always felt towards you like a mother with an idiot child.'If this had been one of the first Wodehouse novels I'd read, I certainly would have given it a 5-star rating. But... by now I'm rather an old-hand Wodehousian so I see it differently.
'She isn't a friend. Just an acquaintance - if that.'or delightfully winding its way to a punch finish -
'Well, that's the way I want her to stay,' said Gertrude. 'The if-thatter the better.'
'... Why not take a chance? You would like Hollywood, you know. Everybody does. Girdled by the everlasting hills, bathed in eternal sunshine. Honest, it kind of gets you. What I mean, there's something going on there all the time. Malibu. Catalina. Aqua Caliente. And if you aren't getting divorced yourself, there's always one of your friends who is, and that gives you something to chat about in the long evenings. And it isn't half such a crazy place as they make out. I know two-three people in Hollywood that are part sane.'In short, not among my favorites (of which there are many) but still rather a jolly read, what?