"'Certainly, McAllister,' I said, 'you may have your gravel path if you wish it. I make but one provision, that you construct it over my dead body. Only when I am weltering in my blood on the threshold of that yew alley shall you disturb one inch of my beautiful moss. Try to remember, McAllister,' I said, still quite cordially, 'that you are not laying out a recreational ground in a Glasgow suburb - you are proposing to make an eyesore of what is possibly the most beautiful nook in one of the finest and oldest gardens in the United Kingdom.' He made some repulsive Scotch noise at the back of his throat, and there the matter rests."
(from Leave It To Psmith, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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