It was a moment fraught with embarrassment. It's bad enough to be caught by your host prowling about his house after hours even when said host is a warm admirer and close personal friend, and I have, I think, made it clear that Pop Bassett was not one of my fans. He could barely stand the sight of me by daylight, and I suppose I looked even worse to him at one o'clock in the morning.
My feeling of having been slapped between the eyes with a custard pie was deepened by the spectacle of his dressing gown. He was a small man - you got the impression, seeing him, that when they were making magistrates there wasn't enough material left over when they came to him - and for some reason not easy to explain it nearly always happens that the smaller the ex-magistrate, the louder the dressing gown. His was a bright purple number with yellow frogs, and I am not deceiving my public when I say that it smote me like a blow, rendering me speechless.
(from Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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