a spur-heeled cuckoo
The Harvard man went back into the kitchen and sat down at a rickety table covered with a red-checked oil-cloth. On it were spread the spoiled ham, a dish of poke salad, a corn pone, and a pot of weak coffee.
And for some reason I'm overcome with the overwhelming impulse to slap Neil on the back of the head, which I do - before I even know her name - and afterwards I don't even know why I've done it and I'm thinking that was a twatish thing to do, not because Neil didn't deserve it but because that's probably what she thinks.
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