Must it not be assumed that blah people are happy and blah people
are given to such excursions, wherefore blah per centum of the
excursionists are happy?
Certainly.
But Yvonne?
What is she?
Sir Psychologist, Lord Hack, Keeper of the Happy Ending, can you not
also hypothesize a hundred different valid denouements?
Certainly.
When the poor, unknown child returns, what Weltschmerz may not seize
hold upon her? What nostalgia? What fantasy or recollections?
What esoteric envies? What odd curiosities? What cooling after the
confidences? What illogical new distastes? What unexpected spousely
piques? What dither? What clandestine or common experiment with all
what unsweet ensuite?
Never congratulate the Fates, emir;
it makes them self-conscious ... undependable.
A point to remember should you ever set down a hundred hours of
pseudo-autobiography:
_Lessons in Light Lycanthropy_: seven essays by Philip Gordon
Prismaggot.
Now came thunder, like sounds in the intestines of distant elephant
herds; now, my curtain rose as eerily as a medium's table and flopped
back to lank alignment with the wall.