‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Beer,’ I said uncertainly.
‘What kind of beer?’
‘Oh, bitter, I think,’ I said, hoping that it wasn’t the kind that tasted like washing-up water, but not being certain.
When it came I found that it was and I was a little annoyed to see that Everard himself had a small glowing drink that looked much more attractive than mine.
— Excellent Women, chapter sixteen
