It was some slight consolation to me in this dark hour to reflect, as I tooled back to the house, that the news I was bearing would, if he were still eating sardines, cause those sardines to turn to ashes in Boko's mouth. I am not a vindictive man, but I was feeling in no amiable frame of mind towards this literary screwball. I mean, it's all very well for a chap to plead that he's an author and expect on the strength of that to get away with conduct which would qualify the ordinary man for a one-way ticket to Colney Hatch, but even an author, I felt - and I think with justice - ought to have had the sense to glance through his car before he locked it up for the night to make sure there weren't any shipping magnates dozing in the back seat.
(from Joy in the Morning, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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