Sugar baby, daddy not only shot you — he tried to kill you! A look of sweet ecstasy came into the wounded lady's eyes.

I had but just laid down my Bible, when in came the ‘letter corporal,’ saying, ‘Does B— stop here?’ having your letter in his hand.

He had a nice breath. Haig and Haig at least. ‘You've been at the sideboy again,’ I said.

You know the type: We'll officially forbid torture but if you—soldier or law enforcement officer or intelligence agent—engage in it illegally with the intent of protecting me and mine and it turns out that you just might have protected us then we'll pardon you. Then we can feel clean and safe and pure and virtuous and still be properly grateful. Despicable moral cowardice; that's what that is. Someone (Michael Kinsley, I think) called all this, salami slicing. He was right, of course, it often is salami slicing.