I loved the stories. And I refuse to be ashamed.
Here's a guide, organized by philosophy.
Soon, the violin’s circle of danger expands to include Ace, then tightens like a hangman’s noose.
Mrs. Figgins: Charmed, I’m sure. I have a list of questions.
GW: Yes, that’s the idea of—
Mrs. Figgins: Stifle.
“Quack, duck!” is shorter than, “Warburton, get your head down!”
"What’s your full name?"
"Hubert Ewing Devery Christopher Bostock III."
"That’s … quite a name."
Sahib, you worry overmuch about offending me.
Gooper? That overstuffed egocentric top-heavy ginger walrus? Oh, he’s a nice feller.
A wide gentleman in a tweed coat arrives, removing a bowler hat. He has massive shoulders and very little neck. His uncombed hair and mustache blaze a vivid red, but his pallid skin tones are fish belly white.
Your date isn’t going well when he says of the wine: “It is not poisoned, see?”