"You used to be one of the cheeriest old bounders that ever donned a spat, and now you're a sort of emperor of the Glooms. You don't even do your hen-imitation any more."
"Well, the thing is, you can't imitate a hen laying an egg properly if your heart's bleeding for the martyred proletariat."
"The what?"
"The martyred proletariat."
"What's that?"
"Well . . . er . . . it's - how shall I put it? . . . it's the martyred proletariat."
"You wouldn't know a martyred proletariat if they brought it to you on a skewer with Bearnaise sauce."
(from Archibald and the Masses, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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