"That stuff smells good, Beach. What is it?"
"Leg of lamb, m'lord, with boiled potatoes."
Lord Emsworth received the information with a gratified nod. Good plain English fare. How different, he was thinking, from the bad old era when his sister Constance had been the Fuhrer of Blandings Castle. Under her regime dinner would have meant dressing and sitting down, probably with a lot of frightful guests, to a series of ghastly dishes with French names, and fuss beyond belief if one happened to swallow one's front shirt stud and substituted for it a brass paper-fastener.
(from A Pelican At Blandings, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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