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“Jeeves”, I said.
“Sir?”,
said Jeeves. He had been clearing away the breakfast things, but at the sound
of the young master’s voice cheesed it courteously.
“You
were absolutely right about the weather. It is a juicy morning.”
“Decidedly,
sir”.
“Spring
and all that”.
“Yes,
sir.”
“In the
spring, Jeeves, a livelier iris gleams upon the burnished dove.”
“So I
have been informed, sir.”
“Right
ho! Then bring me my whangee, my yellowest shoes, and the old green Homburg.
I’m going into the park to do pastoral dances.”
The
Inimitable Jeeves, P. G. Wodehouse
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