He always keeps a vase full of flowers in his office.

A strange white-faced man with wild eyes, toupee at a rakish tilt, twisted by cramp, armed with a Lee Enfield. I sloped arms stiffly and marched out of his life; shouting as I left, ‘Don't do it, whatever it is! Lie down, and think of England!’

[C]urse the day / When first Spain's queen beheld the black-ey'd boy, / And gore-fac'd Treason sprung from her adulterate joy.

As I went down the river, all dissatisfaction at my lot passed away, and by the time Dartmouth came in view I could no longer refrain myself, but threw my cap into the air, and barely caught it from falling overboard as I shouted, Hurrah for merry England! […]