Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

her thatched house, or rubbed against or wrapped round her wonderful clitoris. She then steadily and conscientiously worked through the list thus obtained. After years of severe and indefatigable toil she was able to announce the epoch-making conclusion (which philosophers had guessed with- out ever proving by a truly scientific method) that there was nothing like a cock for fucking, and that a tongue was the best thing in the world for suck- ing off. Her classical researches have encouraged a host of other investigators to engage in similar tasks, and thus stimulated all that is best in mod- ern civilization to probe the immense mysteries that ever ring in our puny intelligences, our be- fogged and poxy brains. The digression has been long, but I trust not without edification ; and in our next chapter you may rely on our returning to the story of the Archbishop’s early life, and his ro- mantic career in the Latin Quarter with S...y B.....s and the Frigging Photographers. [52]