Explore "The Emerald Catherine the Great" by Hilaire Belloc on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"I beg your pardon, sir! May I have the honour of a moment's confidential word with you?"
The refined, the courteous phrase, was followed by a discreet cough. The cough was a trifle mechanical, the words a little too rapidly spoken, as is (alas! ) the common fate of words learned by heart for a set piece, whether by front benchers or perjuring policemen. What followed was marred by the same slight defect, but it was at least clear. It rattled out -- to quote a noble simile from the _Wallet of Kai Lung_ -- "like a stream of pearls dropped into a bowl of jade."