...but such a delightful thought, however unlikely, I always assumed (as one must not since it only shows off ignorance) Vane was a pun on Sayers' own vanity in creating Harriet as Peter's lover after she had fallen so sillily in love with his profile, starting to equip him with a dancer's muscles to dive into ponds with style, she must have been mildly embarrassed however much she enjoyed her mirth or so I...assume but to make Vane a heiress of a Marchess would have been slightly over the top though ever since I first read Murder Must Advertise (causing my own unlycky sejour in the world of marketing in search of witty Death Bredon who does spend parts of his meaningless life there but proved to be gay) I've always been partial to The Meteyard, a much better choice of heroine but we never hear of her again!
Oh, statements of most sorts are such nuisances and no good sports especially when concerning sports, come to think of it, the only thing worse than artist's (themed or not) imposed (Engrish for oktroyieren *argh*, a German verb of that kind;) statements are those of grunting sports stars (not necessarily murderers the whole lot of them though a lot of them may look the part) and even lower on the scale reside the Meth Headed sports journalists for whom a special Hell must be waiting, full of uncooperatively disgruntled (hah!) sports stars. I think.
Sorry about the editing, me & my Mollberg Speak; the Lingua Franca of not only France but the Free World in a not too distant future, where I shall marry Death (Bredon) but then I'd have to become a man so maybe not...
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2014-10-24 11:53 am (UTC)Oh, statements of most sorts are such nuisances and no good sports especially when concerning sports, come to think of it, the only thing worse than artist's (themed or not) imposed (Engrish for oktroyieren *argh*, a German verb of that kind;) statements are those of grunting sports stars (not necessarily murderers the whole lot of them though a lot of them may look the part) and even lower on the scale reside the Meth Headed sports journalists for whom a special Hell must be waiting, full of uncooperatively disgruntled (hah!) sports stars. I think.
Sorry about the editing, me & my Mollberg Speak; the Lingua Franca of not only France but the Free World in a not too distant future, where I shall marry Death (Bredon) but then I'd have to become a man so maybe not...