Still own nothing save characters of my own invention.
Chapter Five
After Olivia had buzzed off, the maid came in. She looked at me in a sort of anxious way, as if I was a dozing lion that might wake up at any moment and drag her off into the undergrowth. As I opened my mouth to start a cheery request for some thing strong and alcoholic, she dived at me, and pressed a crumpled piece of paper into my fingers. Then, she zoomed out like a rocketing pheasant.
I began to un-crumple the communication, with a worried look on the old lemon. Giving it a final tug, the flimsy p. tore, and a scrap drifted beneath the settee. I ignored it, and read the rummy thing;
"Dear Mr Wooster,
I have been observing you from afar, or with intelligence passed on to me by un-suspecting sources. Bertie, my heart longs to be yours! I am convinced that you are the only man in the world for me. Please meet me by the . . ."
And then there was no more, the rest of the letter being concealed under a floral mess of cushions and sofa. There were only two other words written on the bally thing: "yours Emily".
I shoved the bally t. in my pocket, and began to scrabble about under the settee. Just as I felt the scrap in my sweating palm, blasted Olivia came in. I mean to say, what!
With one movement, she scooped me up, and kicked the torn remains of my first love letter away un-knowingly.
"Oh, Bertie! I'm so happy! I just know we'll be happy forever!"
I don't know whether it was the disturbing description by note of molten passion, the thought of spending forever with the Georgehath menace, or simply the lack of substantial beverages to take the above in with, but I had a sudden desire for air. I excused myself, and legged it.
Chapter Five
After Olivia had buzzed off, the maid came in. She looked at me in a sort of anxious way, as if I was a dozing lion that might wake up at any moment and drag her off into the undergrowth. As I opened my mouth to start a cheery request for some thing strong and alcoholic, she dived at me, and pressed a crumpled piece of paper into my fingers. Then, she zoomed out like a rocketing pheasant.
I began to un-crumple the communication, with a worried look on the old lemon. Giving it a final tug, the flimsy p. tore, and a scrap drifted beneath the settee. I ignored it, and read the rummy thing;
"Dear Mr Wooster,
I have been observing you from afar, or with intelligence passed on to me by un-suspecting sources. Bertie, my heart longs to be yours! I am convinced that you are the only man in the world for me. Please meet me by the . . ."
And then there was no more, the rest of the letter being concealed under a floral mess of cushions and sofa. There were only two other words written on the bally thing: "yours Emily".
I shoved the bally t. in my pocket, and began to scrabble about under the settee. Just as I felt the scrap in my sweating palm, blasted Olivia came in. I mean to say, what!
With one movement, she scooped me up, and kicked the torn remains of my first love letter away un-knowingly.
"Oh, Bertie! I'm so happy! I just know we'll be happy forever!"
I don't know whether it was the disturbing description by note of molten passion, the thought of spending forever with the Georgehath menace, or simply the lack of substantial beverages to take the above in with, but I had a sudden desire for air. I excused myself, and legged it.