She liked Victorian novels. They were the only kind of novel you could read while eating an apple.

There have always been Starkadders at Cold Comfort Farm

Curious how Love destroys every vestige of that politeness which the human race, in its years of evolution, has so painfully acquired.

I saw something nasty in the woodshed.

He was, she reflected, almost rudely like a tortoise; and she was glad her friend kept none as pets or they might have suspected mockery.

Nature is all very well in her place, but she must not be allowed to make things untidy.

On the whole, Flora liked it better when they were silent, though it did rather give her the feeling that she was acting in one of the less cheerful German highbrow films.