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His whole attitude recalled irresistibly to the mind that of some assiduous hound who will persist in laying a dead rat on the drawing-room carpet, though repeatedly apprised by word and gesture that the market for same is sluggish or even non-existent.
He spoke with a certain what-is-it in his voice, and I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled, so I tactfully changed the subject.
not to be confused with Aunt Agatha, who eats broken bottles and wears barbed wire next to the skin.
‘There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself “Do trousers matter?”’ ‘The mood will pass, sir.’
Bertram Wooster is a man who knows when and when not to be among those present.
Spink-Bottle, you ghastly goggle-eyed piece of gorgonzola, will you hop it or will you not?’
