"We seem fated to meet."
"And I'm not quarrelling with fate."
"No?"
"No," said Hamilton Beamish. "Fancy it being you!"
"Fancy you being me?"
"Fancy you being you." It occurred to him that he was not making himself quite clear. "I mean, I was sent here with a message for Madame Eulalie, and she turns out to be you."
"A message? Who from?"
"From whom?" corrected Hamilton Beamish. Even in the grip of love, a specialist on Pure English remains a specialist on Pure English.
(from The Small Bachelor, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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