The new British library revised Muslim sensitivity series, 2006.

Excerpt from Maurice Crushed under Large Boulders (formerly Maurice, by E. M. Forster):

"Cripes! What are you doing?"

The gamekeeper turned to Maurice fiercely, eyes blazing with anger.

"I was just ... just ..." Maurice stammered out, shamefacedly. "Just being ... just ..."

The gamekeeper stared roughly. "You were just putting your hands where they don't belong is what you were doing, gov'nor. Just trying some bent business is what you were doing."

"Don't tell anyone," Maurice pleaded. "Don't. It's just ..."

"Sorry, gov'nor, but the Committee on Vice and Morality will have to know. It'll mean being crushed under large boulders for you. Sharia law and all that."

"Of course," said Maurice sadly.

The gamekeeper trotted off to the village as Maurice began shaving his body hair in preparation for justice.

Excerpt from Jeeves and the Ramadan Whore (formerly Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves, by P. G. Wodehouse):

No one has ever doubted that we Woosters, when we get our feathers up, are a fearsome lot. Just this Tuesday, as I was sauntering out to the club, jolly old Koran in tow, I had a run-in with old Jeeves regarding my rather smart new skull cap.

"Sir," he murmured, "is it your intention to parade about the town in a skull cap of that precise design?"

I knew at once what Jeeves was up to. He's rather a stick about certain things--skull caps among them. And yet my new skull cap was the absolute aces. Splendid black weave, tiny little nubbins of red cloth hidden here and there--it had practically leapt out at me from the shop window as I was clipping along to Gussie Fink-Nottle's sister's stoning. As it was I barely had time to summon the shopkeeper, procure said beanie, and arrive at the stoning in time to see Gussie's poor old whore of a sister take one right in the old noodle.

"Jeeves, you're making me rather cross," I growled crossly. "You know perfectly well this is a perfectly reasonable skull cap to wear. I daresay the chaps at the madrassah will positively swoon with jealousy."

"Perhaps, sir," he murmured again. "Although I trust you won't mind if I take the opportunity to observe that the encouragement of jealousy in others is, again, if you don't mind my saying, a grievous affront to Allah. Perhaps the simple grey cap, sir?"

"Simple grey simply won't do," I held. "Simple grey, perhaps, for a simple Friday, Jeeves. But today we chaps are planning something big. As you can see, I've got my holiday kurta on ..."

"I did notice the kurta, sir," said Jeeves painfully. "The cut is perhaps too contemporary?"

"Dash it all, Jeeves!" I cried. "We're planning a big operation here on Mother Soil, and if that doesn't give a cove leave to dress a bit upstairs, then I'll be hanged if I know what does."

It doesn't do well to let a valet start ordering one around. One loses all sense of one's prerogatives. Jeeves was a trusty sort, of course. His family had been slaves to us Woosters since Hector was a pup. When his wife was observed being overly chummy with the halal butcher down the road, it was I who spotted Jeeves the dosh for the kerosene he used to set her alight. So bound together in friendship I suppose we are. Still, I wasn't about to allow something like helping a fellow out with a wife-burning interfere with my right to give the lads an eyeful of what people in the know call "style."

"I'm off to the madrassah, Jeeves."

"Very good, sir."

Excerpt from The Blissful Martyr Reaches Paradise (formerly Dr. No, by Ian Fleming):

Bond slowly rose to his full length. His salaams this morning had taken on a special meaning. He brushed some of the dust from the crease of his robe and made a mental note to call Anderson & Sheppard that afternoon and cancel his recent order for several new robes. Where he was going, he doubted that he'd need such finery ...

"Afternoon, Moneypenny," he called out to the black-clad figure toiling at the desk. "M wanted to see me?"

The figure nodded. Bond had often wondered what the woman beneath the burka looked like. His wondering had, in fact, once occupied him so much that he had had no choice but to order that she be beaten for being a salacious temptress. "Good old Moneypenny," he thought to himself. "One of these days, I may have to marry her."

"What are you grinning at, 007?" M asked. He stood in the doorway, his afternoon caftan billowing around him. "Come inside."

He motioned Bond into the office. "Bring us some tea and dates, Money-penny," he barked.

"Tell me, 007," he asked. "What do you know about the Jews?"

Excerpt from Unlucky Jim (formerly Lucky Jim, by Kingsley Amis):

Jim's head hit the floor with a thud and rolled under the tea table.

"That'll teach you to think twice before making clever atheistic remarks," said the dean to nobody in particular.