It is a characteristic of women as a sex, and one that does credit to their gentle hearts, that - unless they are gangsters' molls or something of that kind - they shrink from the thought of violence. Even when love is dead, they dislike the idea of the man to whom they were once bethrothed receiving a series of juicy ones from a horsewhip in the competent hands of an elderly, but still muscular, chief constable of a county. When they hear such a chief constable sketching out plas for an operation of this nature, their instinct is to hurry to the prospective victim's residence and warn him of his peril by outlining the shape of things to come.
(from Ring For Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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