Suggestions of a knee-trembling encounter on a snooker table in Bird's gentlemen's club lend the story a Palmerstonesque flavour – legend has it that the Victorian prime minister and old rascal died while potting the balls on the green baize with his maid.

With mansuetude (compossible with my muliebrity), I condemn those niddering, olid morons who, in caliginosity of understanding, vilipend our English by attempting to exuviate words for which they cannot see any present custom.

Whether poly people as a whole have achieved the intended compersive intimacy is debatable, …

a spirit form, temporarily materialized, and undistinguishable from a human being in the flesh, has come forth in the light […]