He looked at the miniature like a contemplative frog. ‘Tell me – is she as. . . as. . . well – ah – as her portrait suggests?’
‘She’s a stunner, if that’s what you mean,’ says I, for like every other grown male in London I, too, had admired little Angie, although not entirely for her enlightened opinions – more for the fact that she had a superb complexion, tits like footballs, and two million in the bank, really.
Flashman's Lady, pp.132-33, Pan edition, 1979.
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