An equally underproduced speech by a burned-out English Pac-Man who can’t be bothered to eat pellets is also winning, and comes in so modestly short you want to watch it a half-dozen times.

The young woman grew deadly pale, and cast an apprehensive glance upon Maitre Pierre, in whom the bravado of the young gallant seemed only to excite laughter, more scornful than applausive.

The objects of desire and the brief period of endazzlement by the same, together with the discord in the bodily conditions brought about through violent passions, all this has long ago disappeared; […]

The beast of foot sings Holdfast only, For flesh is bruckle and foot is slee. Strength to the strong and the lordly and lonely, Timor Mortis Exultat Me.