I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.

It looked something like a pen wiper and something like a piece of hearth-rug. A second and keener inspection revealed it as a Pekinese puppy.

This was not Aunt Dahlia, my good and kindly aunt, but my Aunt Agatha, the one who chews broken bottles and kills rats with her teeth.

She looked as if she had been poured into her clothes and had forgotten to say 'when.'

Whenever I have that sad, depressed feeling, I go out and kill a policeman.

Unseen in the background, Fate was quietly slipping lead into the boxing-glove.

Why do dachshunds wear their ears inside out?