The fishy glitter in his eye became intensified. He looked like a halibut which had been asked by another halibut to lend it a couple of quid till next Wednesday.
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Unseen, in the background, Fate was quietly slipping the lead into the boxing-glove.
You wouldn’t think it to look at him, because he’s small and shrimplike and never puts on weight, but Gussie loves food. Watching him tucking into his rations at the Drones, a tapeworm would raise its hat respectfully, knowing that it was in the presence of a master.
Lord Emsworth, whose IQ may be some thirty points below that of an absent minded jellyfish.
You look like Helen of Troy after a good facial.
We exchanged significant glances. At least, I gave him a significant glance and he looked like a stuffed frog, his habit when being discreet.