From Gaudy Night, chapter one, Phœbe and Harriet:
"...He's writing a paper that contradicts all of Lambard's conclusions, and I'm helping by toning down his adjectives and putting in deprecatory footnotes. I mean. Lambard may be a perverse old idiot, but it's more dignified not to say so in so many words. A bland and deadly courtesy is more
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What's the Golden Gate about? And how are you?
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And The Golden Gate is a tale of the lives and loves of some twenty-somethings in San Francisco in 1986, done as 690 sonnets mostly in octosyllabics. It sounds impossibly artificial, but like the verse in the film Yes, it ends up being more inconspicuous than one could possibly imagine. That will be another entry, I suspect.
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