'...Miss Williamson carried jauntiness to its logical conclusion. She had put on her yachting cap, a sailor blouse with anchors worked on the collar, and a bright and skittish blazer. When she thrust her hands into the pockets it rucked up saucily over her behind. A nautical roll completed the toilet. It was acutely embarrassing to look at her. You felt that she might realise at any moment how she looked and be publicly and painfully ashamed. It was like seeing the Lady Mayoress's bloomers fall off at a civic function, amusing of course, but uncomfortable too.'
from The Glasshouse by M. Barnard Eldershaw (Book One, Chapter III)
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