My favourite uncompromisingly demanding schoolmaster, Bartle, side-swiping someone who praises their own use of language.
‘The right language!’ said Bartle Massey, contemptuously. ‘You’re about as near the right language as a pig’s squealing is like a tune played on a key-bugle.’
Source: George Eliot, Adam Bede (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1985 (1859)), p. 387
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