Showing posts with label chaste. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chaste. Show all posts

Friday, 9 November 2012

Wink, wink



. . . in Ab society, which as I’ve told you is probably the most immoral on earth (Cheltenham ain’t in it), rogering the hostess is almost obligatory,  part of the etiquette, like leaving cards, and not at all out of the way in a country where it’s considered a mortal insult to praise a woman’s chastity, since it implies that she’s not attractive enough to be galloped. Say no more.


Flashman on the March, p.169, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Wednesday, 8 August 2012

Rolling in the deep



Very discreet, mind; a ship’s a small place, and chaste young ladies tend to be excitable the first few times and need to be hushed. Elspeth and my second wife, Duchess Irma, were like ecstatic banshees, I remember.


Flashman on the March, p.8, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Wednesday, 10 November 2010

As always



And, as always, I thought what the devil, if I’m wrong, and have been misjudging her all these years, and she’s as chaste as morning dew—so much the better. If she’s not—and I’ll be bound she’s not—what’s an Indian more or less?


Flashman and the Redskins, p.249, Pan Books edition, 1983.




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