Then a gnome like white haired lady, bent like a human question mark, lurched toward me and asked if I was the mailman. … I was Twilight Zoning.

There were many wooden chairs for the bulk of his visitors, and two wicker armchairs with red cloth cushions for superior people. From the packing-cases had emerged some Indian clubs,[…], and all these articles[…] made a scattered and untidy decoration that Mrs. Clough assiduously dusted and greatly cherished.

The mouth becomes the seat of a parasitic stomatitis; the skin is harsh and dry; small boils or a lichenous rash make their appearance.

[T]he white nationalism of internet failsons is like the allegiance to an imaginary caliphate that motivated the terrorists whose depredations helped get Trump elected in the first place. It's often just a carapace, a flag of convenience, a performance for the vast TV-and-online audience that now attends these grisly spectacles, with a malignant narcissism and nihilism underneath.