Showing posts with label manners. Show all posts
Showing posts with label manners. 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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Friday, 26 August 2011

Ich dien



      “Shut your gob!” Oriel manners still, I could see.


Flashman and the Angel of the Lord, p.39, Harper Collins, 1995.



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Wednesday, 22 June 2011

With the aid of a stick



I began by pointing out that I was an invalid — I’d only been able to limp into his presence with the aid of a stick — and that my first need was food, drink, and a doctor to look at my ankle. That took him aback — it always does, when you remind an Oriental of his manners…



Flashman and the Mountain of Light, p.218, Fontana Paperback edition, 1991.


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Friday, 29 April 2011

Damned good form



We tiffened with some of their senior men, all courteous to a fault, and not a word about the likelihood our armies would be at each other’s throats by Christmas — the Sikhs are damned good form, you know.


Flashman and the Mountain of Light, p.59, Fontana Paperback edition, 1991.



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Friday, 23 January 2009

Hand feeding Americans




By and large I’m partial to Americans. They make a great affectation of disliking the English and asserting their equality with us, but I’ve discovered that underneath they dearly love a lord, and if you’re civil and cool and don’t play it with too high a hand you can impose on them quite easily. I’m not a lord, of course, but I’ve got the airs when I want ’em, and know how to use them in moderation. That’s the secret, a nice blending of the plain, polite gentleman with just a hint of Norman blood, and they’ll eat out of your hand and boast to their friends in Philadelphia that they know a man who’s on terms with Queen Victoria and yet, by gosh, is as nice a fellow as they’ve ever struck.



Flash For Freedom!, p.117, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.




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