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Rating details. Sort order. Start your review of Hot Buttered Strumpet. Jul 08, SassySami rated it really liked it Shelves: pre-crash. Funny and imaginative. I even highlighted some snippets to share: "Although his erection was more than impressive, he slipped effortlessly into her greased and juicy passage. View 1 comment. There are no discussion topics on this book yet. About Mina Dorian.
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Mina Dorian. Books by Mina Dorian. Trivia About Hot Buttered Stru No trivia or quizzes yet. Welcome back. Just a moment while we sign you in to your Goodreads account. She noted that his cup was empty and reached across for the teapot. He put aside his paper and held out his cup. She began to pour. Suddenly a thundering salvo shook the room.
The windows rattled and the tableware danced. Bradshaw jumped and let his cup and saucer slip from his fingers.
Bradshaw, in her efforts to stifle a scream, continued to pour strong tea over the tablecloth for some seconds. The royal party were coming ashore. Bradshaw's watch had not been fast.
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It was, in fact, three minutes slow. About an hour later the royal cortege left Kingstown.
Bradshaw, recovered from their upset, waved loyally from the upstairs window. Mary stood behind them, her heart beating with excitement. The procession moved into Crofton Road, turned into Monkstown and paused at Blackrock for yet another address of welcome. The King had been informed of Kingstown's determination to supply small cottages for the labouring classes and gave the scheme his unqualified approval.
The health and efficiency of the labourer depended to a great extent, he said, on a happy home life. He was much touched by their warm and generous welcome. Thousands lined the royal route. They waved flags and bantered good-humouredly with the police. At Morehampton Road, a series of Venetian masts had been erected on both sides of the broad central avenue which divided Herbert Park and the route leading from there to the central bandstand quivered under gay bunting.
Slender flag-staves with suitable banners had been affixed to the ornamental light standards. There was a wealth of flowers and plants.
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A journalist, recording their Majesties' arrival at the exhibition, observed that the people raised lusty cheers of loyal welcome. He noted something further, something which might be interpreted as a manifestation of Divine approval. Just as the Anthem was being played the clouds dispersed, the July sun blazed out, the watching thousands cheered afresh.
There had been some doubt about the sky's intentions. Now they smiled at one another in relief. At the speech of welcome there was a little incident which did not escape the attention of the onlookers. His Majesty, having replied, called for his sword. Lord Aberdeen spoke sotto voce to the organising chairman, Mr. He was then obliged in turn to speak sotto voce to His Majesty, who moved on to other business with characteristic composure. A few astute onlookers tumbled to it that a knighthood had been refused. It was the second small cloud to trouble the minds of those who were responsible for the King's content during his short stay.
These had mysteriously disappeared from Dublin Castle only a few days before. They were valued at over PS50, Worse still, they were the jewels worn on state visits by the reigning Monarch of England. The King would have to do without them. Social opinion was divided between those who endorsed his view and those who deplored his lack of restraint.
Meanwhile the Treasury, in a practical frame of mind, offered PS1, reward for information leading to the recovery. And the King, imperceptibly diminished in splendour, went, unbejewelled, to the Viceregal Lodge. Rashers Tierney rose that morning about the same time as King Edward. First the dog barked and then a hand reached down and shook his shoulder. It was very dark in the basement. The form above him could have been Death, or a ghost, or the hangover figure from a nightmare. Rashers was lying on straw. It was no cleaner than it could be in the damp and dirt of the almost windowless cellar.
Recognising the figure at last as that of Mrs. Bartley, he threw aside the nondescript rags which covered him. There was no need for any modest precautions. He was fully dressed. Bartley said, 'you'll want it for to make tea. Bartley said. She looked around the hovel.
It distressed her. She lived herself in the front parlour with her husband and five children. There were ten rooms in the house and ten families. Nobody regarded Rashers' room as being in the house. It was under it. It cost him one shilling and threepence a week--when he could pay it. Bartley's inspection. They were home-made favours with four ribbons apiece. Tierney,' she said. He took out a cold potato too, but put it back. The rest he left on the straw beside him. Bartley pronounced, having felt it. Bartley sighed and handed him the spoon. He put in the tea. He meant the weather. I wouldn't say it was a bit promising.
Bartley,' he explained to the dog, 'and if you don't know her by now you bloody well ought to. She's to come and go as she pleases. Bartley laughed aloud. Bartley said the children might be calling for her so she would leave the spoon and the can and get them when she was bringing down the scraps for Rusty. She hoped God would give him good luck with his selling.
Spinster Aunt: 'appy Birthday Angela Lansbury!
He had lost his tin whistle after a race meeting nearly a year before. Bartley said indulgently. After the few drinks I lay down in the sun and it overpowered me. When I woke up the whistle was gone. Bartley said, 'they loved you to play for them. I used to play to the two of us and we were never lonely. It's a great consolation. Bartley had a very proper understanding of the whole thing. When Mrs. Bartley had gone he got up and began to pull on socks, thinking of the whistle he had lost.
It had been given to him by Mrs.