Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

mere picklock of a quiet and decent clerical gen- tleman. But the very stricture served its turn. The retention of semen in which lies the whole Art and Mystery of the brangle buttock game was much facilitated by the natural narrowing of the urethra : when I did come, it was more like an eruption of Mont-Pel’ee than a poor priest spunk-spitting at a meat-market. More, the acrid juice of the morbid secretion was far more exciting to the worn-out waste pipe of my gay Flirtina Cop-all than any mere baby-bouillon would have been. Her finish was more like that of a man in delirium tremens dying of strychnine poisoning, tetanus, and rattle- snake bites than a simple but merry-arsed Chris- tian easing her yum-yum on a clergyman’s sore throat. With profound art she reserved her explosions till the supreme moment, and then, with one shriek hardly muffled by the tonsil-teaser in her mouldy mug, she would discharge her various se- cretions — vomit, frowsy towsy-mowsy fuck-muck, shit heralded by a Goetterdaemmerung of farts, and the rest, in an ecstatic touch-off, calculated to witch the world with noble arse-womanship ; thereby obtaining that physiological relief which seems to our modern scientific philosophers the unnecessary excuse for the game of mumble peg. The whole affair reminded one rather of a Crash of Worlds than of the usually less cosmic rootle of a gentle-woman’s split mutton on the loose. But not only in simple androgynation did she excel : she was great at flagellation : had she not been so, I should certainly have said she was, both out of respect for her — for what gentleman would care to dwell upon a flaw in an otherwise perfect character ? — And because otherwise the English gentry would not buy your book, just as without [63]