Monday, 27 October 2014

noted for her pickle recipes

Second Cousin Sarah Taylor, with her great, pale, expressionless eyes, who was noted for the variety of her pickle recipes and for nothing else. So afraid of saying something indiscreet that she never said anything worth listening to. So proper that she blushed when she saw the advertisement picture of a corset and had put a dress on her Venus de Milo statuette which made it look "real tasty."
L. M. Montgomery
The Blue Castle (1926)

Saturday, 18 October 2014

a glass of milk and a bun

If Henry hadn't been determined to quarrel he would have taken her out to lunch first, and now she would have to go and have a glass of milk and a bun in a creamery with a lot of other women who were having buns and milk, or Bovril, or milk with a dash of coffee, or a nice cup of tea. It was a most frightfully depressing thought, because one bun was going to make very little impression on her hunger, and she certainly couldn't afford any more.
Patricia Wentworth
The Case is Closed (1937)

Not my favourite Wentworth - that is perhaps
 The Case of William Smith or Lonesome Road?

Thursday, 9 October 2014

she always felt cheerier at breakfast

'How can you eat that sawdust, Father?' she inquired, beginning on eggs and bacon and speaking cheerfully because it was a fine morning and only ten minutes past nine; and somehow, at the beginning of every new day, there was always a chance that this one might be different from all the rest. Something might happen; and then everything would be jollier all round.
Madge did not see clearly into her feelings; she only knew that she always felt cheerier at breakfast than at tea.


'What time did you say Viola's train gets in?' Tina asked her mother; she sometimes found the Wither silences unendurable.
'Half-past twelve, dear.'
'Just in nice time for lunch.'
'You know perfectly well that Viola's train gets in at half-past twelve,' intoned Mr Wither slowly, raising his eyelids to look at Tina, 'so why ask your mother? You talk for the sake of talking, it's a silly habit.' He slowly looked down again at his little bowl of mushy cereal.
'I'd forgotten,' said Tina. She continued vivaciously, at the silence. 'Don't you loathe getting to a place before twelve o'clock, Madge – too late for breakfast and too early for lunch?'
Stella Gibbons
Nightingale Wood (1938)