unearths some literary gems.
From Trail of Murder, by Christine Andreae:
The high point of my days had become the /Washington Post/'s crossword puzzle.... After I had cleverly penciled in all the boxes, I felt emptier than when I'd started--like bad sex.
"Who was it?"
"Pete Bonsecours," he read.
Bonsecours. "Good help" in French. Was there such a thing as "bad" help?
[If she has to ask, she's obviously never shopped at Radio Shack.]
[From A Fugue in Hell's Kitchen, by Hal Glatzer]:
I couldn't impress the impresarios.
Did you ever see the cartoon in the movies where Popeye runs off a cliff, keeps on running straight out into thin air, and falls down only when he looks down?
[Haha, yes, I have seen that ONE cartoon where this happens. (;v> Granted, this book, though written in the 21st century, is set in 1939... but come on.]
"Ye-es." His dry voice and the creaky chair made almost the same sound.