It was a harsh, rasping voice, in its timbre not unlike a sawmill.

I shuddered from stem to stern, as stout barks do when buffeted by the waves.

'Do you know,' said a thoughtful Bean, 'I'll bet that if all the girls Freddie Widgeon has loved were placed end to end-not that I suppose one could do it-they…

If Eggy wanted to get spliced, let him, was the way I looked at it. Marriage might improve him. It was difficult to think of anything that wouldn't.

The musical equivalent of St. Pancras Station

...crazy as a couple of waltzing mice.

The pounding of the cylinders increased: ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa.