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264
Right Ho, Jeeves
·
P. G. Wodehouse
202
I
sank
into
a
handy
chair.
I
am
not
a
man
whom
it
is
easy
to
discourage,
but
it
seemed
to
me
that
things
had
at
last
begun
to
get
too
complex
for
Bertram.
“Jeeves,”
I
said,
“all
this
is
a
bit
thick.”
“Yes,
sir.”
“The
head
rather
swims.”
“Yes,
sir.”
“I
think
you
had
better
leave
me,
Jeeves.
I
shall
need
to
devote
the
very
closest
thought
to
the
situation
which
has
arisen.”
“Very
good,
sir.”
The
door
closed.
I
lit
a
cigarette
and
began
to
ponder.
-19-
Most
chaps
in
my
position,
I
imagine,
would
have
pondered
all
the
rest
of
the
evening
without
getting
a
bite,
but
we
Woosters
have
an
uncanny
knack
of
going
straight
to
the
heart
of
things,
and
I
don’t
suppose
it
was
much
more
than
ten
minutes
after
I
had
started
pondering
before
I
saw
what
had
to
be
done.
What
was
needed
to
straighten
matters
out,
I
perceived,
was
a
heart-to-heart
talk
with
Angela.
She
had
caused
all
the
trouble
by
her
mutton-headed
behaviour
in
saying
“Yes”
instead
of
“No”
when
Gussie,
in
the
grip
of
mixed
drinks
and
cerebral
excitement,
had
suggested
teaming
up.
She
must
obviously
be
properly
ticked
off
and
made
to
return
him
to
store.
A
quarter
of
an
hour
later,
I
had
tracked
her
down
to
the
summer-house
in
which
she
was
taking
a
cooler
and
was
seating
myself
by
her
side.
“Angela,”
I
said,
and
if
my
voice
was
stern,
well,
whose
wouldn’t
have
been,
“this
is
all
perfect
drivel.”
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