[…] with force he labour'd / To free's blade from retentive scabbard; / And after many a painful pluck, / From rusty durance he bail'd tuck […]
Meantime the minister ascended the pulpit-stair, with all the solemnity of one of the self-elect, and a priest besides.
This is the twentieth century, for what it’s worth. It’s not the age of reason, or even the nineteenth century, it’s the era of flummery, and the day of the devious approach. Reason’s gone into the backrooms where it works to devise means by which people can be induced to emote in the desired direction.
"I am a 'honery' member of a club—and now I'm approaching the exciting part of my letter.
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