Explore "Leave It to Psmith" by P. G. Wodehouse on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
From out of the scented shade of the big cedar on the lawn in front of the castle Psmith looked at the flowerbeds, jaunty and gleaming in the afternoon sun; then he looked back at Eve, incredulity in every feature.
"I must have misunderstood you. Surely," he said in a voice vibrant with reproach, "you do not seriously intend to work in weather like this? "