Showing posts with label middle-age. Show all posts
Showing posts with label middle-age. Show all posts

Wednesday, 7 November 2012

Perversely partial



. . . but she was a hearty piece of middle-aged Eve’s flesh of no remarkable allure — that she appealed to me was by the way; I’m a connoisseur of feminine beauty but no discrimination worth a dam, and anyway I’m perversely partial to royal rattle.


Flashman on the March, p.168, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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Monday, 9 March 2009

I'd rather not, dearest



…I’ve noticed that there are few things that a middle-aged man will go in such awe of as an imperious young wife; he’ll face a wounded buffalo, or go headlong into a sabre charge, be he’ll turn pale and stutter at the thought of saying, ‘ I’d rather not, dearest.’



Flash For Freedom!, p.178, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.




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Friday, 28 November 2008

Evenly spread bigotry






…he had in tow the cocky little sheeny D’Israeli, whom I never could stomach. He was pathetic really, trying to behave like the Young Idea when he was well into greasy middle age, with his lovelock and fancy vest, like a Punjabi whoremaster….if I’d been able to read the future I might have toadied him a good deal more, I dare say.



Flash For Freedom!, pp.24-25, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.




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Tuesday, 25 November 2008

Middle-aged moneybags



He was the sort of friend you’d expect Morrison to have – a middle-aged moneybags of a banker called Locke, with reach-me-down whiskers and a face like a three-day corpse.



Flash For Freedom!, p.23, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.




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