January 28, 2010

The professor’s cat moved with lark-like civility down the hallway. Plel Lolman smiled with his wooden mouth. Widow Chirp, the landlady, ladled dollops of treason pie onto broken dishes. The professor remained in his room twirling a mackerel in anticipation of Crimson Bloodhound Day. Mavis, the parlor maid, sat in the boiler room eating a feather duster while reading the autobiography of B. Tipton Stallworthy, Tentacle of Death. Henry, the handy man, crawled on his belly like a spewing monk across the basement floor. Bindings erupted through his door and flailed from room to room, weeping. In the attic, Clever Ricky hid. Standing on the steps outside, young librarian’s assistant Jane Littleheart was in the process of making the worst decision of her up until then industrially flexible life. She was about to inquire within.

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