Eeep.

From Marion Chesney's Lady Fortescue Steps Out:

"Then find somewhere else to live, you chisel-faced twat," shouted Sir Philip and stormed out.

Oh, my.  Didn't see that coming.

Lady Fortescue is one of the genteel poor.  She decides that she'd rather be well fed and warm than proud, and so she rounds up a bunch of other poor aristocrats and they pool their resources and start a hotel.

Huge fun and very silly.  The literary equivalent of chocolate cake.  (Not super-rich dark chocolate bakery cake, and not super-special homemade cake, and not the semi-plastic-flavored Hostess cupcakes from the convenience store*, but cake from a mix -- cake that is quick and easy and wholly enjoyable, the kind that you don't feel guilty about eating a huge slab because, hey! There's another box in the cupboard.)

Two of my co-workers are already begging to borrow it, so I'm keeping this short.

I'll be ILLing the others very soon.

*Which also have their place, of course.