Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

[49] CAPITULUM VI I think, said Leila, as her frantic dripping-pan release my frizzling sausage, done to a turn, that we shall restore your despondent tickle-gizzard to a better condition if we look on a bit at the Archbishop, and his games. Surely he is asleep after such a night with the camel, I objected, for it was now morning, the expert melting-pot of the hot-arsed hogoninny having kept my metal at the point all night without ever giving it a chance to run over. Not he ! She sneered. He is now with his Venerable Aunt, as he calls her, a lascivious old woman if ever there was one ! A very gobble- prick ! A brimstone bunter ! But come ! You shall see them. We strolled into the next room, where the grey- haired old foreskin-hunter was in the very act of swallowing the large and luscious semolina pud- ding that trickled from the recently frigged whore- pipe of her nephew. Two active boys were engaged in stuffing her lucky-bag with current numbers of the Daily M..., as I observed with satisfaction, guessing at last the secret of our enormous circulation. When the supply of these was done, they con- tinued with the Sunday S....d and that peculiarly foul organ, Good W...s. This was her chief pleasure, since she had sought this temporary retirement from the whirl of politics. Licking her loose and wrinkled lips, she spat the glutinous relics of her nephew’s emission into the face of her last lover, a Scotch missionary