Wednesday, 1 February 2012

Bad medicine

...the nasty young Norse God had turned into a jowly sausage-faced old buffer whose head seemed to grow straight out of his collar without benefit of neck... I tipped my tile instead, he did likewise, frowning, and a moment later he was clambering aboard and I was legging it in search of a gallon or two of brandy. Quite a turn he'd given me — but then, he always did. Bad medicine, Bismarck; bad man.

Flashman and the Tiger, p.38, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.

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