From Untimely Death, by Cyril Hare:
He had brought plenty of books with him…. He picked up successively a historical work which he was very anxious to read, a neglected classic which he had always intended to read and a cheap thriller which he had brought along because Eleanor [his wife] liked that sort of stuff. One hour, eight chapters, and 120 pages later, he was contemplating the predicament of a heroine who owed her perilous state entirely to her pig-headed refusal to inform the proper authorities that in chapter I she had found a dead body….
That’s my MO, all right, the worthwhile book, the neglected classic, and finally, curl up with the trashy detective story.
I guess I’m intellectually lazy. How about you, bloggers?