What the f do you think you're doing?

The leading protagonist at chess was an odd-bod by the name of Henry John, John being the American for something else and I sometimes wonder how right they are.

There's too many women in the house for me: I hate the sound of women's voices; they're always either a-buzz or a-squeak, always either a-buzz or a-squeak.

And even if we accept the possible explanation that, at the time life appeared, there were in existence biophilic elements now defunct, or vitalising rays no longer radiant, even then, we are met by the facts (i) that even in the lowest organisms there is extraordinary […]