P. G. Wodehouse

“ A stream of cars which had been dammed up as far as the eye could reach began to flow swiftly past. They moved in a double line, red limousines, blue limousines, mauve limousines, green limousines. She stood waiting for the flood to cease, and, as she did so, there purred past her the biggest and reddest limousine of all. ”

“ You will like the music."
"It sounds," said Jill amiably, "as though the piece is bound to be a tremendous success."
"We hope so," said Mr. Pilkington. "We feel that the time has come when the public is beginning to demand something better than what it has been accustomed to. People are getting tired of the brainless trash and jingly tunes which have been given them by men like Wallace Mason and George Bevan. They want a certain polish.... It was just the same in Gilbert and Sullivan's day. ”

“ The man at the piano bowed. His black hair heaved upon his skull like seaweed in a ground swell.
"My name is Pilkington. Otis Pilkington."
The uncomfortable silence which always follows introductions was broken by the sound of the telephone-bell on the desk. Otis Pilkington, who had moved out into the room and was nowhere near the desk, stretched forth a preposterous arm and removed the receiver.
"Yes? Oh, will you say, please, that I have a conference at present." Jill was to learn that people in the theatrical business never talked: they always held conferences. "Tell Mrs. ”

“ Goble and Cohn had provided for those who called to see them one small bench on the landing, conveniently situated at the intersecting point of three draughts, and had let it go at that.
Nobody, except perhaps the night-watchman, had ever seen this bench empty. At whatever hour of the day you happened to call, you would always find three wistful individuals seated side by side with their eyes on the tiny ante-room where sat the office-boy, the telephone-girl, and Mr. ”

“ Jill felt the hostess' desire to keep conversation circulating.
"I hear," she said, "that this piece is a sort of Gilbert and Sullivan opera."
Mr. Pilkington considered the point.
"I confess," he said, "that, in writing the book, I had Gilbert before me as a model. Whether I have in any sense succeeded in...."
"The book," said Mr. Trevis, running his fingers over the piano, "is as good as anything Gilbert ever wrote."
"Oh, come, Rolie!" protested Mr. Pilkington modestly.
"Better," insisted Mr. Trevis. "For one thing, it is up-to-date."
"I do try to strike the modern note," murmured Mr. ”