Eustace Hignett looked up brightly, even beamingly. In the brief interval which had elapsed since Sam had seen him last, and extraordinary transformation had taken place in this young man. His wan look had disappeared. His eyes were bright. His face wore that beastly self-satisfied smirk which you see in pictures advertising certain makes of fine-mesh underwear. If Eustace Hignett had been a full-page drawing in a magazine with "My dear fellow, I always wear Sigsbee's Superfine Fetherweight!" printed underneath him, he could not have looked more pleased with himself.
(from The Girl On the Boat, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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