"If you want to know the time, ask a pleeceman," she said. "You been on this beat long?
"Just short of two weeks, miss."
"I been here three days."
"I hope you like it, miss."
"So-so. The milkman's a nice boy."
Constable Plimmer did not reply. He was busy silently hating the milkman. He knew him - one of those good-looking blighters; one of those oiled and curled perishers; one of those blooming fascinators who go about the world making things hard for ugly, honest men with loving hearts. Oh, yes, he knew the milkman.
(from "The Romance of an Ugly Policeman," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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