He had the look of an ostrich that had swallowed a door knob.
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Unseen, in the background, Fate was quietly slipping the lead into the boxing-glove.
We exchanged significant glances. At least, I gave him a significant glance and he looked like a stuffed frog, his habit when being discreet.
The Right Hon. was a tubby little chap who looked as if he had been poured into his clothes and had forgotton to say “When!”
Bingo uttered a stricken woofle like a bull-dog that has been refused cake.
There is only one cure for grey hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine.