'[…] Isn't he a kind of nobleman?' Macarthy asked. 'Well no, not exactly a nobleman.' 'Well, some kind of a panjandarum. Hasn't he got one of their titles?' 'Yes, but not a very high one,' Agatha explained. 'He's only a K.C.B. And also an M.P.'

I took a few poundings in the past.

Grumping to himself as he made up his own bed, Bradly thought, Have to wash that blanket; young blighter going to bed with all that mud on his feet.

There's Controllable who pseudo-innocently waits to be told what to do