"You know Miss Peavey's work, of course?" said Lady Constance, smiling pleasantly on her two celebrities.
"Who does not?" said Psmith courteously.
"Oh, do you?" said Miss Peavy, gratification causing her slender body to perform a sort of ladylike shimmy down its whole length. "I scarcely hoped that you would know my name. My Canadian sales have not been large."
"Quite large enough," said Psmith. "I mean, of couse," he added with a paternal smile, "that, while your delicate art may not have a universal appeal in a young country, it is intensely appreciated by a small and select body of the intelligentsia."
And if that was not the stuff to give them, he reflected with not a little complacency, he was dashed.
(from Leave It To Psmith, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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