His footsteps died away, and there was silence in the quiet garden. Both Anselm and Myrtle were busy with their thoughts. Once more through Anselm's mind there was racing that pithy address which the coach of his college boat had delivered when trying to do justice to the spectacle of Number Five's obtrusive stomach; while Myrtle, on her ide, was endeavouring not to give utterance to a rough tanslation of something she had once heard a French taxi driver say to a gendarme during her finishing school days in Paris.
(from Eggs Beans and Crumpets, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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