Showing posts with label callous. Show all posts
Showing posts with label callous. Show all posts

Wednesday, 23 January 2013

His quiet smile



      There was general laughter at this, and Napier said with his quiet smile that we must resign ourselves to being regarded as callously irresponsible or rapaciously greedy. “Brutal indifference or selfish imperialism; those are the choices. As an old Scotch maidservant of my acquaintance used to say: ‘Ye cannae dae right for daein’ wrang!’


Flashman on the March, pp.286-7, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.



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Monday, 8 October 2012

Snatched up at random



I was as shocked by their accuracy as by their callousness, but Uliba merely remarked that a Galla warrior could hit any target up to fifty yards with a spear or a knife or even a stone snatched up at random.


Flashman on the March, pp.103-4, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Monday, 13 December 2010

Flashy’s boy, no error



Good actor, too—aye, it all fitted, the skill in histrionics and dissimulation, the delight in twisting the victim’s tail, the mockery, the cool damn-you cut of his jib, the callous way he talked of things other youngsters would have been ashamed of. Oh, he was Flashy’s boy, no error—even if I hadn’t sold his mama down the river, there’d have been no touching reunion between father and son. We ain’t cut out for affection, much, our lot.


Flashman and the Redskins, p.338, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Friday, 22 October 2010

Shan't call it a heartbreak



…I shan’t call it a heartbreak, for my old pump is too calloused an article to break. But it can feel a twist…


Flashman and the Redskins, p.213, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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Wednesday, 16 June 2010

A broken firing-pin



      ‘Good God, you don’t mean to say,’ cries I, genuinely appalled, ‘that he got his knocker shot off?’
      ‘Let’s not think about it,’ says he, but I can tell you I went about wincing for the rest of the evening. Poor old White Raja – I mean, I’m a callous chap enough, but there are some tradgedies that truly wring the heart. Mad about that delectable little bouncer Angie Coutts, despot of a country abounding with the juiciest of dusky flashtails just itching for him to exercise the droit de seigneur, and there he was with a broken firing-pin. I don’t know when I’ve been more deeply moved. Still if J.B. were the first man in to rescue Elspeth, she’d be safe enough.

Flashman's Lady, p.133-34, Pan edition, 1979.



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