“Behind us hung a Correggio St. Sebastian with the habitual Buchmanite expression on his face. "Awful tripe," said Uncle Matthew. "Fella wouldn't be grinning, he'd be dead with all those arrows in him.” — Nancy Mitford Copy Share Image
Twenty-three and a quarter minutes past, Uncle Matthew was saying furiously, in precisely six and three-quarter minutes the damned fella will be late — Nancy Mitford Copy Share Image
