The Mouse That Roared Boxed Set

by Leonard Wibberley

For some reason, which I don’t understand, they are content with their own country and don’t want anybody else’s.

Hmmm...

His son, Tully, however, though widely quoted and regarded as the philosopher and wit of the country, was not held in the same esteem as his father. Partially this was due to the fact that he had no respect for anyone’s opinion, not even his own. He had but to hear a statement to deny it, or if not deny it, at least demand that it be examined scrupulously to see whether it was true or false.

An admirable quality which would obviously make him unbearable.

To rob the millionaire is as dishonorable a thing as to rob the widow.

I absolutely disagree.

This, her newly-elected party leaders were just beginning to discover, and they found the tactic overwhelming.

I mean, it's too bad that I finished a book on copyediting immediately before starting this one. Otherwise I might not have noticed, and certainly wouldn't have cared, that the first comma in this sentence is superfluous and should be removed. Also, upon reflection, "superfluous" might not be the word I want. "Extraneous," perhaps?

And lastly, they had launched some sort of supersonic hand missile which made a whistling noise as it sped over his head.

Okay, this is asking too much suspension of my disbelief. Armor and helmets perhaps, but these men didn't recognize bows and arrows?

“It is one thing if people are prevented from reading newspapers because they have been killed by an atom-bomb, but quite another thing if they are prevented from reading newspapers for fear of being killed by an atom-bomb.”

Fair enough.

“This is the Secretary of State,” he said, “and I might add this is an emergency. I want you to send to the Duchess Gloriana XII of Grand Fenwick immediately one Imperial Russian Sable fur coat, full length, and send the bill to me personally at the State Department. It is for my private account. There’s only one thing. I don’t know her size.” “That would be size twelve, Mr. Secretary,” said the man at Saks Fifth Avenue. “How do you know?” asked the Secretary, surprised. “We make it our business to know the size of everyone in the world of sufficient eminence to one day buy an Imperial Russian Sable fur coat,” was the reply. “Well, I’ll be damned,” said the Secretary and he hung up.

You know what? I bet that's true.