Ofttimes we look upon an eyely prize, / And conjure means by which we may obtain / That morsel for ourself; […]
Without one of the ordinary inducements which light up the saloon, and cover the supper-table with spun-sugar temples...and in giving parties, she only fulfilled the destiny attached to such possessions.
[headline] N.Y. Gays: Will the Spark Die?
“Mr Wooster?” “Oh, hullo, Lady Wickham.” … “Hullo, Bobbie,” I said. “Hullo, Bertie,” she said. “Hullo, Upjohn,” I said. The correct response to this would have been “Hullo, Wooster”, but he blew up in his lines and merely made a noise like a wolf with its big toe caught in a trap. … But as I approached the [telephone] and unhooked the thing you unhook, I was far from being at my most nonchalant, and when I heard Upjohn are-you-there-ing at the other end my manly spirit definitely blew a fuse. For I could tell by his voice that he was in the testiest of moods. Not even when conferring with me at Malvern House, Bramley-on-Sea, on the occasion when I put sherbet in the ink, had I sensed in him a more marked stirred-up-ness. “Hullo? Hullo? Hullo? Are you there? Will you kindly answer me? This is Mr Upjohn speaking.”
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