Showing posts with label sponge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sponge. Show all posts

Wednesday, 5 September 2012

Complete with a fly-whisk



. . . he was a languid, amiable young haw-haw named Twentyman, a Hussar, complete with fly-whisk and followed by a chico* with a bucket of camphorated water whose duty it was to supply his master with wet clouts to sponge away the dust.


* Native Child


Flashman on the March, p.29, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.



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Tuesday, 14 August 2012

Genteel sponging



. . . I learned that he was in the diplomatic, which didn’t surprise me, for he was a born toad-eater with a great gift of genteel sponging and an aversion to work.


Flashman on the March, p.10, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.


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