I am not one to boast–positively noted for my reserve and humility and all that–but we Woosters have been past masters of executing a quick, manly sneak to the exit since nigh on to the Crusades. Dash it, the good ol’ escutcheon proclaims Felix Exitus en Exito or words to that effect.
Naturally, one feels a good deal of pride when Merry Olde England takes a look round at the Wooster oeuvre and says to itself, self, go and do thou likewise. One feels rather bucked. I mean to say, its a dashed honor.