I pressed down the mental accelerator. The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea.
P. G. WodehouseHe had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more.
P. G. WodehouseI laughed derisively. "For goodness' sake, don't start gargling now. This is serious." "I was laughing." "Oh, were you? Well, I'm glad to see you taking it in this merry spirit." "Derisively," I explained.
P. G. WodehouseOther men puffed, snorted, and splashed. George passed through the ocean with the silent dignity of a torpedo. Other men swallowed water, here a mouthful, there a pint, anon, maybe, a quart or so, and returned to the shore like foundering derelicts. George's mouth had all the exclusiveness of a fashionable club. His breast stroke was a thing to see and wonder at. When he did the crawl, strong men gasped. When he swam on his back, you felt that that was the only possible method of progression.
P. G. Wodehouse