Feeling like a soldier deserting his comrades, I lowered my rifle and ran back to the farmplace.

If he can stick to vegetables, too, he's all the better, but I can't preach that while I am wolfin' up ham and eggs.

The vogue for the sleuth-flâneur […] in the first half of the twentieth century has encouraged recent attempts to map the rise of British detective fiction, and its subsequent love affair with the thriller, onto the shifts in national morale precipitated by international conflict. One train of thought, for instance, suggests that the genre provides nameable, explicable corpses to mourn, after the senseless obliterations of the First World War.

Ten million dollars of seed money could provide the necessary kick-start for the initiative.