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He had been looking like a dead fish. He now looked like a deader fish, one of last year's, cast up on some lonely beach and left there at the mercy of the wind and tides.
P. G. Wodehouse -
’You must remember, Father,’ said Mavis, in a voice which would have had an Eskimo slapping his ribs and calling for the steam-heat, ‘that this girl was probably very pretty. So many of these New York girls are. That would, of course, explain Frederick's behaviour.’
P. G. Wodehouse
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’Oh, yes, he thinks a lot of you. I remember his very words. 'Mr Wooster, miss' he said 'is, perhaps, mentally somewhat negligible but he has a heart of gold’
P. G. Wodehouse -
At five minutes to eleven on the morning named he was at the station, a false beard and spectacles shielding his identity from the public eye. If you had asked him he would have said that he was a Scotch business man. As a matter of fact, he looked far more like a motor-car coming through a haystack.
P. G. Wodehouse -
He then gave a hideous laugh and added that, if anybody was interested in his plans, he was going to join the Foreign Legion, that cohort of the damned in which broken men may toil and die and dying, forget. ‘Beau Widgeon?’ said the Egg, impressed. ‘What ho!’
P. G. Wodehouse -
Aunt Agatha, who eats broken bottles and wears barbed wire next to the skin.
P. G. Wodehouse -
You know how it is with some girls. They seem to take the stuffing right out of you. I mean to say, there is something about their personality that paralyses the vocal cords and reduces the contents of the brain to cauliflower.
P. G. Wodehouse -
There's too much of that where-every-prospect-pleases-and-only-man-is-vile stuff buzzing around for my taste.
P. G. Wodehouse
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He was a tubby little chap who looked as if he had been poured into his clothes and had forgotten to say 'when!'
P. G. Wodehouse -
Ice formed on the butler's upper slopes.
P. G. Wodehouse -
She had a penetrating sort of laugh. Rather like a train going into a tunnel.
P. G. Wodehouse -
His whole aspect was that of a man who has unexpectedly been struck by lightning.
P. G. Wodehouse -
Oofy, thinking of the tenner he had given Freddie, writhed like an electric fan.
P. G. Wodehouse -
Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. He looked like a man who would write vers libre, as indeed he did.
P. G. Wodehouse
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I started violently, as if some unseen hand had goosed me.
P. G. Wodehouse -
‘Suppose your Aunt Dahlia read in the paper one morning that you were going to be shot at sunrise.’‘I couldn’t be, I’m never up so early.’
P. G. Wodehouse -
She fitted into my biggest armchair as if it had been built round her by someone who knew they were wearing armchairs tight about the hips that season.
P. G. Wodehouse -
Routine is the death to heroism.
P. G. Wodehouse -
It just showed once again that half the world doesn’t know how the other three quarters live.
P. G. Wodehouse -
And as he, too, seemed disinclined for chit-chat, we stood for some moments like a couple of Trappist monks who have run into each other at the dog races.
P. G. Wodehouse
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He resembled a minor prophet who had been hit behind the ear with a stuffed eel-skin.
P. G. Wodehouse -
I turned to Aunt Agatha, whose demeanour was now rather like that of one who, picking daisies on the railway, has just caught the down express in the small of the back.
P. G. Wodehouse -
Directing an austere look at Tubby’s receding back, she spoke in a cold crisp voice which sounded in the drowsy stillness like ice tinkling in a pitcher.
P. G. Wodehouse -
Has anybody ever seen a dramatic critic in the daytime? Of course not. They come out after dark, up to no good.
P. G. Wodehouse