An inimitable genius

      “Do you like the name Mabel?”
      “No.”
      “No?”
      “No.”
      “You don’t think there’s a kind of music in the word, like the wind rustling gently through the tree-tops?”
      “No.”
He seemed disappointed for a moment; then cheered up.
      “Of course, you wouldn’t. You always were a fatheaded worm without any soul, weren’t you?”
      “Just as you say. Who is she? Tell me all.”

A little Wodehouse is good for what ails you, much of the time, anyway. The foregoing is from the short story “Jeeves in the Springtime.”

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