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October 9 - October 12, 2019
“May I venture to ask if it is a promising case, my lord?” “It has its points. So has a porcupine.
“But, my dear old egg, didn’t Murbles tell you the snag?”
“Sorry I couldn’t do better for you. Cheerio!” “Oh, cheer-damnably-ho!” retorted Wimsey crossly,
He was the one person who was never irritated by Wimsey’s mannerisms, and Wimsey repaid him with a genuine affection foreign to his usually detached nature.
“Righty-ho! I’ll have the bus ready for you at eleven. Cheer-most-frightfully-ho! So long.”
“You shock me inexpressibly,” said Mr. Murbles.
I’ll learn him to cast nasturtiums at me.”
“Aristotle, chiefly,” replied Wimsey. “He says, you know, that one should always prefer the probable impossible to the improbable possible.
It’s because you’re artistic, I suppose.” For some reason, the word, “artistic” produces the most alarming reactions in people who know anything about art. “Artistic be damned!” said Wimsey, spluttering with fury.
She threw herself on the couch near the fire. “That’s better,” said Wimsey. “Napoleon or somebody said that you could always turn a tragedy into a comedy by sittin’ down. Perfectly true, isn’t it?
