Through the pages of [her book] Lay Sermons walk the great. I don't say that Margot Asquith actually permits us to rub elbows with them ourselves, but she willingly shows us her own elbow, which has been, so to say, honed on the mighty.

... no matter where she takes off from, she brings the discourse back to Margot Asquith. Such singleness of purpose is met but infrequently.

The affair between Margot Asquith and Margot Asquith will live as one of the prettiest love stories in all literature.

The t is silent, as in Harlow.