From Poison in the Garden Suburb, by G. D. H. & Margaret Cole:
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"Damask cheek!" said Miss Lydia, in a tone which left it uncertain whether the remark was intended as a repetition or an expletive.
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[Hypothetical Lorgnettes dept.:]
The congregation...was not the kind which possesses lorgnettes; but if there had been lorgnettes available, one felt that at least fifty indignant pairs would have been turned upon Miss Lydia.
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The little man made a gesture which seemed to indicate an almost violent lack of interest.
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"Do you mean to tell me that that--Helen of Troy is married to that little sandy-haired fellow who knows all about something or other...?"
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"I'd be glad if you'd tell me, ma'am, just what it was you yourself saw, without bothering about any one else. And be as quick as you can please; we've no time to waste."
This was exactly what Mrs. Fremantle was most unwilling to do.
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Mr. Cayley had asked her at what time the lecture was going to start, and whether the lecturer was as much of a crank as the rest of them.
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"Fellowship," said Miss Millicent..., "is heaven, and lack of fellowship is hell." And, to point the reference, she had hand-painted several copies of this sentiment in Gothic letters, and pinned them up at intervals round the room, so that, unless you kept your eyes firmly glued to your food, you must look either at the other residents or at an adjuration to commit fellowship with them.
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"At any rate," she said with finality, "he doesn't want to be a psycho-analyst, and that's something at least."
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"Ugh!" said the telephone disgustedly.
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[Quantification dept.]
"You don't think then," said Wilson, mentally taking thirty per cent. off this somewhat coloured view, "that he did this thing?"
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[Bonus: Mrs. Fremantle has a chauffer named Twaddle.]
