[...]my memory is reasonably good—unlike yours, dear sir!” “Mine is erratic,” he said imperturbably. “I remember only what interests me.

Sir Richard sighed. "Rid yourself of the notion that I cherish any villainous designs upon your person," he said. "I imagine I might well be your father. How old are you?" "I am turned seventeen." "Well, I am nearly thirty," said Sir Richard. Miss Creed worked this out. "You couldn't possibly be my father!" "I am far too drunk to solve arithmetical problems. Let it suffice that I have not the slightest intention of making love to you.

Will you marry me, vile and abominable girl that you are? Yes, but, mind, it only to save my neck from being wrung!

My dear girl, you don't consent to an abduction! You consent to an elopement, and I knew you wouldn't do that.

Spread the glad tidings that it will not disappoint Miss Heyer's many admirers. Judging from the letters I've received from obviously feeble-minded persons who do so wish I would write another These Old Shades, it ought to sell like hot cakes. I think myself I ought to be shot for writing such nonsense, but it's questionably good escapist literature and I think I should rather like it if I were sitting in an air-raid shelter, or recovering from flu. Its period detail is good; my husband says it's witty---and without going to these lengths, I will say that it is very good fun.

As for the fan, she agreed that it was a most amusing trifle: just what she would wish to buy for herself, if it had not been so excessively ugly!

When fate is got it in for you, there is no limit to what you may have to put up with.