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Jo saw and understood the look, and she stalked grimly away to get wine and beef tea, muttering to herself as she slammed the door, “I hate estimable young men with brown eyes!”

Referring to the beef tea some fans would drink at half-time, he said it was "a long-ball world of Bovril, packed terraces and Northern rain... with supporters watching fantastic footballers with equally fabulous haircuts".

She and Viola sent a steady stream of beef tea and baking soda poultices to my room.

“It’s cold broth.” And don’t forget beef tea.

I was looking at the ocean and waiting for the steward to bring me a cup of beef tea.