Sat up a bit last night finishing Bulldog Drummond. And now for my catchphrase (say it with me): I might write a review at some point. In the meantime, have someone else's. I especially like the observation about thrillers as daydreams.
When a friend of G.K. Chesterton asked him to edit a book called "Platitudes in the Making", the Apostle of Common Sense sat down with a green pencil and proceeded to utterly lay waste to it in the cheeriest way you can imagine. Oh, and draw pictures. I love that man!
I feel like I should include another link and make it an even three, but I can't come up with one, so allow me to ramble a bit. I am not now very well-dressed, being clad in a Perry the Platypus t-shirt and a pair of jeans with an unintentional hole in the knee. It took two cups of tea (made in a microwave and a saucepan respectively, because we don't have a kettle here) to resurrect me to my current state of consciousness. Bulldog Drummond, I blame you.
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