unearths some literary gems.
From a Robert Barnard novel
Two minutes, and in bustled Mr James Brudenell, private secretary to the Princess Helena. I suspected he liked bustling in on people, and had probably only been in the next room anyway, watering the aspidistras. He was a pouter-pigeon little man, oh-so-smart in his morning coat and trimmings, but with a fat little tummy which he thrust self-importantly before him, as if he were pregnant with a new generation of private secretaries to royalty. He had weak little eyes behind strong glasses, and a thin veneer of geniality covering a solid wedge of self-importance and conceit. I didn't greatly take to him, as you'll have gathered.
