We ain’t top-drawer

      She’s God’s own original snob, my little Paisley princess — as though her mill-owning father had been a whit better than the Wilsons. But the little skinflint had collared a peerage in his declining years, you see, and she seemed to think that his coronet and cash, with my V.C. and military rank, to say nothing of her own occasional intimacy with the Queen, raised us above the common herd. Which I guess they did, in an odd way — or if not above, apart at least. We ain’t top-drawer, but there’s no denying we’re different.


Flashman and the Tiger, p.229, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.


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