But when I settled down for a read last night I soon encountered the following:
- "Oh forsooth! I cannot believe you are so anile!"
- "he waved one penumbral arm"
- "still he catechized"
- "immitigable hate"
- "brandished his carious eyes"
- "a number of my chattel"
- "attar-laden voice"
- "the whole penumbra burst into flame like a skin of green tinder"
- "you shall have your guerdon"
- "the forest’s perpetual gloaming"
- "an exigent need for sleep"
The trilogy's going back to the charity shop – though I have determined to use the word "anile" on the next ageing non-male I meet.
1 comment:
You're not really missing much.
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