"Like an uneasy choir-boy. I think I shall send it back again and ask him to put it in a surplice."
"Yes, but why should my wife dangle a beneficed member of the Established Church of England round her neck? What proud prelate—"
"Choir-boy, darling. You're thinking of bishops."
As it happened my thoughts were not at all episcopal. On the contrary, I looked at the miniature again, and I looked at myself in the glass, and I said firmly that the thing must go back a fourth time.
Recruiting Sergeant. "WHAT ARE YOU FOR?"
Recruit. "FOR THE DURATION OF THE WAR, OR LONGER IF IT DOESN'T END SOONER."
"You can't wear it. People would come and ask you who it was and you couldn't tell them. You'd have to keep it locked up, and what's the good of that?"
"I can't write again," said Celia. "Poor man! Think of the trouble he's had. Besides I've got you back now. It was really just to remind me of you."