It was one of those cold, clammy, accusing sort of eyes--the kind that makes you reach up to see if your tie… — P.G. Wodehouse
It was one of those cold, clammy, accusing sort of eyes--the kind that makes you reach up to see if your tie is straight: and he looked at me as I were some sort of unnecessary product which Cuthbert the Cat had brought in after a ramble among the local ash-cans.
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Boyhood, like measles, is one of those complaints which a man should catch young and have done with, for when it comes in middle life it is apt to be serious.
The fascination of shooting as a sport depends almost wholly on whether you are at the right or wrong end of the gun.
Has anybody ever seen a drama critic in the daytime? Of course not. They come out after dark, up to no good.
