Showing posts with label prig. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prig. Show all posts

Thursday, 27 November 2008

An evening at Cleeve House



In the meantime, the first evening at Cleeve was quite as much fun as a Methodist service. Of course, all Tory gatherings are the same, and Locke had assembled as choice a collection of know-all prigs as you could look for.



Flash For Freedom!, p.24, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1980.




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Monday, 7 July 2008

The happy reek of brandy

We were entering what is now called the Victorian Age, when respectability was the thing; breeches were out and trousers came in; bosoms were being covered and eye modestly lowered; politics was becoming sober, trade and industry were becoming fashionable, the odour of sanctity was replacing the happy reek of brandy, the age of the Corinthian, the plunger and the dandy was giving way to the prig, the preacher and the bore.



Royal Flash, p.13, Pan edition, 8th printing, 1978.




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Wednesday, 4 June 2008

Being a ruffian

Watching his tall figure moving away I felt a little chill touch me; being a ruffian, perhaps I know a good man when I see one better than most, and Mac was one of the mainstays of our force. A damned prig, mind you, and given to immense airs, but as good a soldier – for what that’s worth – as I’ve met.



Flashman, p.194, Pan edition, 12th printing, 1979.




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