He'd been sure Grundy was smuggling the stuff, and raking off from him.
He's her cousin, after all, and Mrs. Grundy's dead—in the Euston Road, at all events.
Mr. Grundy's account of this interview is inconsistent in itself.
Whoever has a wife and children has given hostages to Mrs. Grundy.
No, the Grundy "virtues" are fast disappearing, and piano legs are once more being worn in their natural nudity.
But there were those photographs, and the world was full of Mrs. Grundy.
Mr. Grundy, one of the committee, defended the resolution in a bold and manly speech.
It was anything but Bohemia—it was the very temple of Mrs. Grundy.
At the head of the table sat Jackson; at the foot, the young statesman and guest, Mr. Grundy.
Old Lady Grundy's watching you—and it's your turn in a second.