unearths some literary gems.
The man grinned, and, as Roz watched, the grin widened to resemble a Moebius strip or an infinity sign.
I was rather baffled by the business about prophecies: I couldn’t see why the ghosts of the dead should know any more about the future than anyone else—rather less, I would have thought.
Corfu has the charm of a place which reminds one of other places--which and for what reason one is not altogether certain.... [Some features] remind one chiefly of Venice, especially of those things in Venice which remind one of Istanbul.
"Yeeees," she said, drawing out the "yes" as though stretching a balloon.
"Yes." And here she ballooned out the "yes" as far as seemed possible without it actually popping and deflating and turning into a "no."
—Ian Sansom, The Case of the Missing Books
If a forensic anthropologist did this, I'll eat my hat. My fur-lined hat with earflaps, the one I wear when it snows.
You get the Earl of Thingummy, for instance. Right. So far, so good. But his heir is Lord Whoosis, and if his union has been still further blessed, the result will be anything from the Hon. Algernon Whatisit to the Hon. Lionel Umph.
"He made a noise."
"What sort of noise?"
He rather rashly tried to imitate it and found his companion eying him with open incredulity.
"It couldn't have sounded like that," said Lionel. "There isn't such a noise."
"I'd like to put all the women I've fallen in love with at first sight end to end--"
"Well, you mustn't."