She is only coming to gloat over my bedraggled and flowerless borders and to sing the praises of her own detestably over-cultivated garden. I’m sick of being told that it’s the envy of the neighbourhood; it’s like everything else that belongs to her—her car, her dinner-parties, even her headaches, they are all superlative; no one else ever had anything like them.

There have been numerous reports of snatch squads detaining men on the street and drafting them into the army.

I thought it was a very tomorrowish movie. Hitch had once again taken enormous strides with some of his backdrops.

What cares must then attend the toiling swain.