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unearths some literary gems.
From The Brontës Went to Woolworths, by Rachel Ferguson:
***I had smugly intended my book to be about a family rather like ours, but, lud love you! it’s already turned into an account of a barmaid’s career in an Edgware Road pub, and I can’t squeeze us in anywhere!***The family is always asking me to read them “bits,” and I always refuse. The general public (if I ever have one) I don’t mind a bit, but reading what one has written is like kissing a lover in a tram.***A jury summons had commanded mother (on a buff slip, ending “hereof fail not,” for which I forgave it everything).***"It's like when people say 'God bless you'; one doesn't know whether to say 'Don't mention it,' 'Not at all,' or "The same to you.'"***"Then we'll be married on the Tuesday, if it falls early in the week, and I'm not laid up with one of my attacks of synopsis of the scenario."***And then I went into the library and had an inferiority complex.***Pipson crated us in his enormous Daimler as though we were glass, or a loan collection of Flemish pictures.***He doesn’t seem to go down a bit, though, and is always telling stories that nobody listens to, so they might be worth hearing.***“The Brontë family has been, like Switzerland, too much stamped over.”***Mother said she hoped Sheil wouldn’t grow up to write novels of the type she calls “lofty leg-pulls.”***“The last time I dropped in, you said hereditament five times, and I thought it a gorgeous word.”
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