Wednesday, December 04, 2024

It is all relative

     "You didn't get his consent in writing?" I asked, as he concluded.

    "Well, no," he admitted. "It never occurred to me. But if what is in your mind is that he may try to back out of it, don't worry. You have no conception, Bertie, literally no conception of the chumminess which exists between us. Hands were shaken, and backs slapped. He was all over me like a bedspread. Well, to give you some idea, he said he wished he had a son like me."

    "Well, considering he's got a son like Edwin, that isn't saying much."

(from Joy in the Morning, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

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