I wouldn't have a face like that,' proceeded the child, with a good deal of earnestness, 'not if you gave me a million dollars.' He thought for a moment, then corrected himself. 'Two million dollars!' he added.

I pressed down the mental accelerator. The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea.

It is true of course, that I have a will of iron, but it can be switched off if the circumstances seem to demand it.

I shuddered from stem to stern, as stout barks do when buffeted by the waves.

His eyes were rolling in their sockets, and his face had taken on the colour and expression of a devout tomato. I could see he loved like a thousand bricks.

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

...with each new book of mine I have always the feeling that this time I have picked a lemon in the garden of literature.